


Dum spiro spero

by Lilyliegh



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anxiety, Based on prompts, Chronological and Sequential but not really day by day, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Datastormshipping, Minor Hireshipping, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilyliegh/pseuds/Lilyliegh
Summary: "While I breathe, I hope."Neither Aoi nor Spectre planned on going to Den City University, much less staying in school, but perhaps as roommates there is more to the university lifestyle than they imagined.Written for Vrains Rarepair Weeks 2018.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> i've had this fic sitting on the backburner for ... three months? at least. anyways, as soon as i found out there would be a Vrains Rarepair Weeks i was pumped to write some blueghost, so here we are! fluffy, adorable yet also angsty, blueghost university au ^^
> 
> i'll be updating daily from December 23 to January 7, so look forward to more chapters! <3

Saying goodbye doesn't feel hard for Aoi. She feels like she's been saying goodbye for months now: when she applied for university, when she was accepted to university, and when she, Ema, and her brother packed all her stuff up at moved it to Den City University. In each of the moments, she felt like she was saying goodbye. Her heart stuck in her throat and her eyes misted over. A swelling feeling built up in side of her, ready to tide over at the slightest sappy word.

But today's the fourth day she's had to say goodbye, and so it doesn't feel quite so different or unexpected. She crosses her legs at the ankles, and adjusts the seatbelt pressed against her neck. Out the window of her brother's posh car streams the city: a crammed agglomeration of sparkly, silver buildings connected by grey roads and pathways. Even going to the university doesn't feel like a sudden move. She'll live an hour away from her house, and forty-five minutes away from SOL Technologies; she could visit her brother and Ema every weekend if she wanted to.

Her brother keeps telling her this too.

"You can come back every weekend if you'd like," he says. "Or we can stop by on our way home from work and pick you up for dinner. We could go out to eat every other night—"

"Hush," Ema says, swatting him from the passenger seat. She kicks her feet up on the dashboard, and curls a long strand of pink hair around a manicured fingernail. "She's going to have so much fun with her dorm friends that she doesn't need to be babysitting you. Isn't that right, Aoi?" She leans back in the seat and smiles sweetly.

Aoi nods quickly. "Yeah," she says. "But I'll make sure to call you on the weekends, all right?"

"I'll have my phone on me at work too," he says.

Ema leans over and blows a breath into his face. "Stop playing the overprotective big brother role," she teases. "Aoi is a big girl now, and she needs to spread her angel wings and soar into a new life. She does not need to be dealing with your anxious mother-henning." Ema turns around in her seat and peers at Aoi through the space between the front seats. "It's OK to be nervous and afraid, all right? That's normal. But don't let Akira's pining make you feel guilty. You're off to a new adventure, kiddo, and though it's going to feel different, I think you'll find these new chapters of your life breath-taking."

She's heard the motivational words from every guidance counselor and university representative who's come to talk to her grad class, and Ema's lines just sound like a rehashed, condensed version of their hour-long presentation. She knows she's going to be fine in university. She knows this is the start of something fresh and exciting. She knows university is a new chapter in a young person's lives. But Aoi feels neither excitement nor anxiety about going off to post-secondary school. Six months ago when she filled out her paperwork, she was anxious. Two months ago when she received her acceptance letter, she was excited. But the same feelings have been bubbling inside her for so long that they no longer feel new in a good or a bad way.

She smiles for Ema though, if only to end the conversation and watch out the window. Akira pulls the car off the main road and into the school's campus. As it's the first day of university for all students, welcome banners hang from every rooftop and lamppost. With decorations and tents galore, the entire campus looks more like the entrance to a circus troupe than an academic settlement. As they drive down the main boulevard, she spots green lawns lined with tents and tables: information booths, club booths, and several food and vendor stalls. There are big signs pointing to the dorms, classrooms, and bookstore; Aoi already has everything she needs, and class doesn't start until tomorrow.

"Say, Akira," Ema says. "Didn't you go here?"

"No.”

Aoi swallows. When her brother was eighteen, he was acting as her guardian after their parents died. He was working for shady organisations and hacking into important government software. He even dropped out of high school so that he could take care of her. With all his success in information technology and his status as the head of security at SOL Technologies, no one would know he never attended any fancy academic institutions.

It's perhaps why he was so pushy for her to attend one post-high school.

"Pity," Ema says, running her tongue over her lips. Then she tips her head back to Aoi. "I did, believe it or not. I'm not going to say this is the greatest school ever because I flunked two classes because I had teachers that said nonsense like 'You're never going to get an A in my class.' But it's probably a better school now than it was back then—and you're going into theatre, isn't that great?"

It was the only thing she could think of that truly interested her.

"But anyways," Ema says, tapping her finger to her chin, "I bet you're curious who your roommate is."

"A bit," Aoi says. She wanted to have a roommate only so that her brother wouldn't have to pay so much for all her tuition costs, even though he makes millions. She's never had a roommate either; her brother doesn't count, and Ema—his girlfriend—moved in last year, and she seems more like a big sister. Having someone her age, a first-year too, is perhaps the most terrifying aspect of university.

"Do they still sort you by majors? Maybe you'll end up with an art student."

"I don't think so," Aoi says. "I think it's just random ... or matched by personality."

Ema clicks her teeth together. "Did you lie on your form, Aoi?"

"What?" Akira speaks up, hands tightening on the wheel.

"I'm joking," Ema says. "I mean, did you even think you could answer the quiz honestly. Sometimes they ask you the strangest of questions that you have no clue how that could give any indication of your personality or interests."

"I tried," Aoi says. That's all she can say. The quiz was as confusing as Ema described it. There was no indication that any of the questions she answered could be useful to match you with someone. But Aoi shakes the thoughts from her head as they approach the dorm building. She recognises it at once. It's homey, so unlike the minimalist, sterile tower that she, Ema, and her brother live in. This dorm looks cosy. Flower beds line the pavement walkway, and a set of glass doors lead into a warm lobby area. As it's springtime, sunlight beams through the many floor-to-ceiling windows along the walls. The lights aren't even turned out, and yet the place seems as bright as the outdoors. In a lobby are are scattered couches and chairs, and weaved between them is a path up to the elevator and stairs.

"Are we saying goodbye to you here, Aoi, or up in your room?"

Aoi swallows. There's now a bit of weight in her heart that wasn't there when she was in the car, and when she speaks her throat feels sticky and clogged.

Ema seems to know. She links arms with Aoi and Akira, and whisks them up towards the stairs. "Let's go see your cute place one more time."

Aoi doesn't miss the glare she gives Akira.

Her dorm room is the on the third floor and second door to the left. Even though the building seemed so small from the outside, it feels like a labyrinth inside. Just how do all the rooms fit in here? And yet her own dorm room seems so spacious.

When Aoi opens the door, she can't help but smile a bit. She's left the living room and kitchenette untouched so that she can plan things out with her roommate, but she's already decorated her room. She turns her fairy lights on and watches the room sparkle to life. Tucked in the corner is her bed, plush and cosy, and her desk—while not organised—is ready for any and all studying. She's hung up her Blue Angel cosplays in her closet, and hung several pictures from her photoshoots by her desk to add some colourful touches.

Sitting on her desk is one special photograph that Akira made her put in a visible spot. Aoi's glad he told her to do it. It's a photo of her, him, and Ema when they went skiing in December. Only Ema had skiied before, which is why she's the only one not covered in snow and shivering, unlike Akira and Aoi who have blue lips and pink cheeks. But they all look happy, away from work for once.

"You got plans for the day, kiddo?" Ema asks.

Aoi shakes her head. She feels herself tense up. This is the start of the goodbye, right? But she didn't feel sad at all on the car ride, so why now? Feelings bubble up inside her—feeling she can't put a name to. Feelings that she thought she let out every time previously that she wanted to say goodbye.

A pair of strong arms wrap around her shoulders. Not Ema, but Akira, draws her into a tight hug that squeezes the feelings from her body. Aoi relaxes against her brother, and slowly brings her arms up to hug him. They've had goodbye hugs like this every time prior, and every time he's been able to chase away the bad thoughts that come to tell her that she's made the wrong choice, that she doesn't want this.

"I hope you have lots of fun," he says.

Ai nods, up and down, bonking her forehead into his strong chin.

"You're gonna do great," Ema says. "Plan something fun today. Go wander around the bazaar and see what's out there, or stay inside and have a day to yourself. Hey, maybe your roommate will show up soon, which is why ..." Gently, she hooks a finger under Akira's collar.

Aoi lets go over her brother after one last squeeze. The feeling still lingers, pushing away the growing anxiety. She clenches and unclenches her hands, and stares down at her feet. Guilt gnaws at the corners of her mind. How could she be guilty? This is what her brother and Ema both want, and what she wants too—so why should her mind be telling her no? 

Akira looks at beaten down as she feels. None of them are crying, but she wonders if perhaps that's what this situation needs to release the stress and guilt and confusion.

"Call me after your classes, all right?"

"Sure," Aoi says. "I'll tell you all about them."

"Remember to have fun," Ema says. "Don't they tell kids these days, 'Make the most out of your university experience!' Well, do whatever that means." Neither Aoi nor Akira have the heart to turn away from each other first, so Ema loops arms with Akira and pulls him away. "Bye bye, Aoi! Tell us all about your adventures, but make sure to live them first!"

The door closing sounds too loud.

"Do whatever that means ..." Aoi murmurs. She glances around her room, at her books and cosplays and computer. Do what exactly? Outside, she can hear the chatter of students sounding much more excited for their first day, and the rumble only seems to grow louder. This must be the time everyone is arriving on campus. Her heart thunders in her chest. Will her roommate walk through the doors any minute now? Should she be waiting for him, or should she make herself busy?

She wanders out of her room and into the living room. Not a single item has be moved in case her roommate wants to re-order the space. Aoi wonders if she'll even spend any time out here. She's used to spending all day in her room, or dueling in Link Vrains. But maybe she should spend some time out here, in the open ...

She grabs her laptop off her desk and brings it back to the living room. She plugs it in, but faces opposite the door so that if her roommate comes in her doesn't see her screen.

Then she waits.

And waits.

She refreshes the same three pages, and closes tabs only to re-open them a second later. Her gaze flickers from the screen to the door and back so much that she wonders if she can create an optical illusion where she sees the screen  _ on  _ the door. But eventually she gives up, closes  _ all  _ of her tabs, and puts her laptop back in the room.

_ Make the most out of your university experience ...  _ Right. She'll go for a walk then, somewhere where no one else will be and she can daydream for hours and zone out.

She slips out the door and wanders down the hallway. There are students in the lobby now, knees up to their tummies and backpacks piled up on one of the chairs. They wave to Aoi when they see her, and Aoi forces a smile. She doesn't know them. Who knows if they're even in this dorm building, or on the same floor as her. But she acknowledges them out of politeness, and then heads down the steps and path. The main courtyard is bustling with new students; she avoids those areas like the plague. But DCU is a large campus, and naturally there are many spaces that are private study places.

Out of them, Aoi finds the gardens most appealing. There are no gardens where she used to live in Den City; instead, manicured flower beds were built out front, but they looked fake, like someone wrote in a basic line of coding for "flowers" and made them appear out front of the apartment. This garden is overgrown—not unmaintained, for it looks well-tended to, but sprawling outside of any confined zone. The trees and bushes occupy the same spaces, yet neither one looks invasive. Flowers and weeds sprout through the shaky cobblestone path. Tucked in little inlets are benches and tables, and even a chess table.

Best of all, it's quiet. Aoi only spots one person—a boy with silver hair—and he stays quiet as she wanders down the pathways and eventually settles on a seat across from him. She doesn't have anything to read, but she pulls out her phone and fiddles with some of the gacha games she downloaded.

This counts as socialising, right? She's in the same space as someone else.

She stays there until her stomach begins to grumble and growl, and she wanders back to her dorm. As she walks, she hears a second set of footsteps behind her. Without peeking over her shoulder, she supposes it could only be the other person from the grove. But he doesn't turn off at the first access to the courtyard, or the second, or the third. Quickly, she sneaks a glance back at him. He doesn't seem to be staring at her, but he's ... There's no way he's  _ not  _ following her.

They walk down the same path all the way to the dorm complex. Aoi feels her heart hammer in her chest. She's heard stories of girls who've been assaulted on campus. There are justice organisations on campus to help everyone feel safe, but Aoi never thought that on her first day ... No. There's a mistake here somewhere.

When she opens the door, she steps the side and holds it open for the boy. Man. He looks her age, but silver-white hair betrays his age. He has such doll-like skin too.

He steps through the doorway with a sly smile towards her.

Aoi swallows. She doesn't want to judge, or assume, but this guy ...

He doesn't hang around to see her though. Thankfully, he walks up the stairs without once turning back. Aoi hangs around for a moment before she heads up to her dorm room too. The girls are still on the couch, now flipping through textbooks and talking about how expensive they were. Aoi wonders if she screamed that these girls would hear her.

No.

She's being paranoid.

She climbs the stairs up to her floor, and stops in the hallway.

He's at her door.

Even from here, she can see he's standing right at her door, with a key of his own. And now that he's her roommate, maybe he looks less intimidating, but Aoi sucks in a breath as he smiles at her.

"Hey. You on this floor too?"

Aoi nods her head, and pulls out her own keychain. "Roommate."

"Room—" He smiles at her. "Coming in then?"

"Y ... yeah."

"I'm Spectre by the way."

"Cool." The words sound like distant, fleeting noises, not even words that would remember she said. Gone is the strange fear. Instead, Aoi feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her head. She's sharing the room with a stranger. She knew this. She was expecting this. But now it's a reality and it feels ... real. And strange.

"Your name?" Spectre says.

"Aoi."

He smiles. "Cool."

In situations like this, Aoi doesn't know what to begin to do. Meeting Ema was much different than this; she'd met her so many times when she came over to spend the night that there was no awkward "now we're roommates" stuff. But Spectre is new and unfamiliar, and Aoi feels all the strange feelings Akira had squeezed away suddenly surface.

As soon as she enters the room, she swiftly leaves it, closing her bedroom door behind her. Legs shaky, she braces herself against the door and listens. Waits. There is nothing strange about the stranger, Spectre, but living with someone else sets her heart pounding and her stomach churning, and the hundreds of strange sensations she feels coursing through her paralyse her. In the end, all she can do is hole herself up in her room and avoid her new roommate until he leaves.

Maybe this isn’t it.

Maybe this isn't what she wanted at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late! holiday plans got a little busy leading up to the 25th, and i've only recently regained internet access - but i've got all the chapters pre-written, so i'll be catching up ^^  
> i'm ... not satisfied with this chapter in the slightest, but it's a decent introduction to Spectre and his friends, so take it as you will :3
> 
> and for day 02: fairy tale (only ... it's not XD)

University seems like the best place for Spectre, hands down. It's full of people from the moment he steps onto the campus: people his age and people older than him, and so many different kinds of students that he can hardly keep track of them all. Even if no one's talking to him, he can hear so many voices chattering away, complaining about school, talking about everything and nothing like it's the most important news today. He's never heard so many voices either, and together a symphony trills in his ears.

It seems so unfair when he heads inside.

It seems even more unfair when his roommate heads straight to her room and closes the door. He even hears it lock behind her.

Oh.

Spectre shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders around the room. He's already unpacked, though it's difficult to believe so: he bought a set of sheets from the store just before he came. Instead of buying textbooks, he'll study at the library: a busy but quiet place where he won't have to pay to read. Though it seems nice to decorate his room, he doesn't really know what he'd want to put in it. Maybe some house plants.

But it doesn't really matter what his room looks like. Not in the slightest. He was much more looking forward to spending time with his new roommate and getting to know them.

Shrugging, he wanders around the house and opens up all the blinds to let the sunlight in. The campus is bright and breezy, and the midday sun shines down on the students and bazaars. It's still busy out there with people bustling to and fro to pick up their books and join clubs. He's already joined the gardening club.

He flops down on the couch with a sigh and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and fiddles with some of his apps before he finally calls Ryouken.

"What?"

"Saying hi."

There's silence on the other line, and then Spectre hears a voice say, "Who's that?"

Spectre smiles widely and tilts his head back. "Hey, Ryouken?"

"What?"

"Are you with Fujiki?"

"What?"

His grin stretches, yanking at the corners of his mouth. "You are, aren't you?"

"Are you calling for a reason?"

"To chat," Spectre says.

Ryouken sighs through the speaker. "Fine. We're just outside of the fairgrounds—sorry, the courtyards. It looks like a fair, all right, Yuusaku?" Ryouken laughs. "Come find us."

He ends the call and pockets his phone. Whenever Spectre needs company, he knows he can always go pester Ryouken. Sure, he looks like an awkward third wheel trailing after them, or dragging them along, but it's better than being here by himself. He glances towards the door. She still hasn't come out. He can't hear her making any sounds either. Should he invite her? He wouldn't do it out of politeness but to get to know her better. But it would seem polite too, he supposes.

He raps his fingers once on the door.

"Hey," he says, and then swallows. "Going out, you want to come?"

No answer.

"OK, I'm leaving the door unlocked."

Still no answer.

He drags himself away and out the door. His mood improves as he heads out the door, passing students in the hallway, stairway, and the lobby. This university must be massive. Outside, the courtyard crowds haven't thinned out; people are huddled everywhere around stalls, and many of the students passing by carry DCU-themed merchandise.

But Spectre knows Ryouken won't be in the thicket of the crowds, so he wanders around the perimeter and looks for two people who stick out like sore thumbs. Ryouken is by far the easiest person to spot: he's tall with silver-white hair like Spectre, with the only difference being the style and the swish of purple along his bangs. Yuusaku, who sports an equally extravagant blue-and-pink hairstyle, somehow blends into the crowd more easily. They're both crowded around Ryouken's phone watching a livestream of a recent dueling match and don't even notice him until he snaps his fingers in front of the screen.

Ryouken lifts his head. His striking, blue eyes narrow. "Match is still on."

Spectre grins. "Bet they have WiFi at the café."

"Bet it's the busiest place in the entire campus."

"Oh well."

Ryouken rolls his eyes and snaps his phone closed. Together, the three of them head down the courtyard and away from the busy bazaar. The pathway is still clogged with people and their backpacks, and Ryouken points out on numerous occasions that wherever they're going is going to be jam-packed.

"It's fine," Spectre says. "Hey, you seen your dorm room yet?"

Ryouken nods. "Tried the bed too."

Spectre's long since become accustomed to Ryouken's playful taunts about his and Yuusaku's steamy relationship, but Yuusaku—whose been dating Ryouken for two years, mind you—hasn't. He chokes loudly on the air and muffles his coughs into his sleeve. Ryouken pats him on the back and grins coyly at Spectre.

"How 'bout the rest of the furniture? Tried that too?"

Ryouken snorts and shrugs his shoulders. "No, we're still unpacking. And how's your room?"

Spectre feels a cold sweat drip down his neck. Fortunately, he sees the café up ahead, and he points it out and crows, "See, told you it's not busy!"

For how populated the courtyard is, the café is only moderately busy. They don't have to wait outside for a seat, and inside the cosy building are empty wooden benches and bar-stools before a counter that overlooks the floor-to-ceiling windows and the courtyard beyond. It's exactly the sort of space Spectre would want to study at: bright and open, with the light music of clinking china and murmured chatter.

They slip into the short line and pick out drinks. With so many choices Spectre can't decide, but before they make it to the front of the line, he picks out a fancy kind of tea. They bring the drinks to one of the empty booths, tucking themselves in: Ryouken and Yuusaku on one side, and Spectre on the other.

"So." Ryouken takes a long, slow sip of his latte, and licks his lips. "How's your room?"

"Why the interrogation?" he says. "It's perfectly fine. Probably better than yours because it's closer to most of my classes and not all the way at the edge of the campus."

Ryouken doesn't bite the bait. "And your roommate?"

Spectre grins. "She's fine—super nice and chatty, actually."

"A girl," Ryouken says. He hums to himself.

Spectre's smile widens. "Yeah, really kind and polite. I think she came earlier and set up all her stuff—not that I peeked in her room, but she left her door open one time and I could see through the doorway. She's fine though, it could be so much worse." He takes a sip of his tea. It burns his tongue, but he still finishes the sip and swallows, even when it singes the sensitive skin of his throat. 

"Did you at least find out her name?"

A sigh of relief. At least, of all the things he doesn't have to lie about, he knows her name. "Aoi."

Yuusaku lifts his head. "Aoi?"

Spectre blinks. Normally, when he and Ryouken and Yuusaku go out for coffee, the conversation stays between him and Ryouken. Yuusaku might nod or say yes, but both of them have long since given up inviting him to the conversation when he seems perfectly content to sit and listen. Sometimes Spectre even forgets he's sitting with them. Hearing Yuusaku's voice sounds so foreign.

"Y-yeah," he says. "She said her name was Aoi. Didn't get a last name."

Yuusaku doesn't say anything more. He chews on his lip and crunches his eyebrows together like he's deep in thought. Spectre waits for any sort of indication that this might be a familiar name to Yuusaku, but he doesn't say a word. 

"You know her?" Ryouken asks.

"Maybe ..." Yuusaku swirls his coffee cup around lazily, meeting neither of their eyes. "I went to school with an Aoi."

"What was she like?"

Yuusaku shrugs.

"You don't remember?" Spectre rolls his eyes and glares at Ryouken. "Did you ever meet someone named Aoi?"

"No. But she sounds nice. I bet you're glad to have such a talkative roommate around."

He honestly can't tell if Ryouken is joking or not. He has such a deep, rumbling voice—healthily deep for a young adult, but in the lower, sultrier octaves that would send a heart-throbbing youth to their knees. Spectre hopes Ryouken is just joking about all this. As teasing as he can be, if he sensed something strange, he'd speak up about it and interrogate Spectre until he found out. So he should be fine, but he feels his skin prickle every time Ryouken takes a sip of his drink and licks his lips.

"Really talkative," Spectre says. "I probably won't get any studying done."

"Me neither."

Spectre rolls his eyes. "Not for that reason," he mutters.

"Course not," Ryouken says. He flicks on his phone and then pockets it. "But time is up for us. We should head back."

Spectre takes another sip. His tea is still hot, and there's still half of it left to drink. But Ryouken slides out of the seat and then helps Yuusaku out. Ryouken rarely apologises, but his smirk seems a tad sorrowful when he dips his head and says goodbye.

"Yeah, yeah, have fun," Spectre tells them, shooing them off just to get them away. He knows they have better things to do than hang around him. Besides, he'll stay in this café all night just so that he doesn't get lonely. He hopes when he returns the girl isn't hiding away in her room.

For the rest of the evening, he plays around on his phone and sips at his tea. When it's empty, he buys another drink; no food, he'll make dinner when he gets home. He hangs around the café for as long as he can, until eventually it gets boring and the noises switch from soothing to disturbing. Then he marches back to his dorm room.

She's not there. Her door is closed, probably even locked too. She'll have to come out if she wants to use the toilet or shower, but who knows if she cleaned up while he was out with Ryouken and Yuusaku. She might already be in bed too; it's eight o'clock, not an unreasonable time if someone has classes early in the morning or works out before the sun can rise, though he pegs her as neither of those people.

Sighing, he heads back to his room and flops down on the futon. No bed, just the mattress tightly dressed in the fresh sheets he bought. Although comfy, the space feels stiff, not to mention the room that echoes when he breathes. Everything feels far too quiet, and if he didn’t know he had a roommate, he wouldn’t have guessed it from the silence in the room. 

Did he expect a partying roommate? Not at all. Did he expect a roommate that wanted to talk to him. Maybe. Did he, at the very least, expect a roommate that would leave her own bedroom and acknowledge his presence? 

Certainly.

Another sigh builds up in his lungs, resting like a heavy stone in his chest.

Well.

This wasn’t what he expected, nor wanted, at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm skipping day 03 of the event to come back to later (bonus Christmas chapter!) so this is for day 04: birthday  
> (and it's late, but i'm catching up soon!)

Aoi has her phone to her ear the moment her classes end. She stacks her books up as she listens to the ringing tone, and she has her backpack around her shoulders by the time her brother picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Just got out of class," she says. She can barely hear his reply, and chances are he can't hear her either. The classroom has become a raucous mess since it finished as students leap out of their seats and begin to talk eagerly amongst each other. Aoi follows the thick, rumbling crowd out to the corridor. She smushes her phone against her ear and whispers, "Sorry, just leave class now. Are you in the parking lot?"

She doesn't hear his reply at first, and she exits the building and sharply turns down one of the paths not filled with students. Then she repeats the question.

"Not yet. Just a couple more minutes."

"No, no," she says. "That's fine. I need to go back to my room and change anyways."

Akira hums against the line. "Good day?" he asks.

Aoi nods. "Yeah. See you soon."

She hangs up before he can say another word. Her teeth worry at the tip of her lip, raw from the many times she's bitten it before. The wound probably won't ever have a chance to heal if she keeps gnawing at it like it's a tooth-scratching post. But it's also relieving to gnaw away at the guilt; after all, it's eating away at her belly too.

Sucking in a breath, she marches forward, pulling her backpack up by its straps. She weaves through the trees and on the cement paths to her dorm room. At this late-afternoon hour, there are no students studying in the main lobby. They'll either be in their classes or out for dinner. It feels too quiet without anyone around, and so as she marches up the stairs, she listens for the sounds of chatter and laughter. Her dorm room isn't a party house, but it's much, much louder than her home. Without her brother around, her old home used to be so quiet she could hear her heartbeat.

When she reaches her floor, Aoi can't even hear her own thoughts. There are a couple students standing in the hallways, looking like they just got out of class. Aoi brushes by them without a word and unlocks her door. Unsurprisingly, her living room is occupied: he—Spectre—is always sitting out on the couch, often leafing through books or completing sudoku puzzles. He never appears to be studying, and since he's never in his room, Aoi supposes he never studies for classes.

She doesn't either.

"Yo," Spectre says, throwing up a hand.

"Hi," Aoi says, and hurries past him to her room. She kicks the door closed behind her just as she hears him say something, and the wood muffles out the rest. She doesn't have time to talk to him. Quickly, she drops her bag by her messy desk, rife with books and papers from some haphazard studying she did earlier. She quickly changes out of her loose jeans and t-shirt and into something more formal: a cocktail dress with a high collar and mid-length sleeves, with a skirt stretching to her knees. Formal, but classy and sophisticated.

She glances down at her feet. Flats or cosplay boots—the only “formal” footwear she packed to university. 

Flats it is.

The only mirror in the house is in the bathroom, so using the selfie mode of her camera, she brushes her bangs to the side and tucks her hair behind her ears. Her short bob-cut feels longer even though it's only been a month of classes. She wonders if she'll look different to Akira. Will he notice that her hair has gotten longer, or that she's put on weight? She's called him on several occasions, but she hasn't seen him since he dropped her off on campus.

Sighing, she tosses her phone into her purse and snatches up her wallet. She adjusts her skirt and sleeves, and then lets out one last breath. It doesn't ease the stone in her chest.

Spectre spots her right away. "Ooh, you heading out?"

"Yes," Aoi says.

"Seeing your family?"

She nods stiffly.

"Where you going?"

Aoi closes the door behind her. She marches past the students in the hallway, and down the stairs to the lobby. Once more she treks across the campus and to the main roads surrounding the campus. Among the cars parked to the side she spots her brother's luxurious black car; he waves a hand out the window for her too. Even from a distance, he looks different to her: more stern and serious, with deep bags under his eyes. Has he been sleeping or eating properly?

Sitting in the passenger seat is Ema. She looks exactly how Aoi remembers. She hops out of the car when Aoi approaches, and embraces her in a tight, squeezing hug that pops some of the anxiety from her gut and chest. Ema hasn't changed a bit. She's dolled up for the night, with her hair thrown into a wild-yet-stylish updo. With heels on, she's even taller than Aoi remembers, and her hugs feel like she's leaning over her and encasing her in a thick, impenetrable bubble.

She only lets go when Akira steps out of the car and embraces Aoi too. His hugs aren't as squeezy, but there's something comforting about the way his broad shoulders try to wrap around her, or how he presses his hand firmly against her back. She's missed hugs like this.

Once greetings are over, they head back to the car. Aoi hasn't even buckled herself up before Ema turns around and asks, "So how're you doing, kiddo?"

"F-fine," Aoi says, feeling her face heat up. She sees Akira's eyes in the mirror, watching her instead of the road. "Fine," Aoi says again. "Really good."

"That doesn't tell me anything, silly." Ema bats her playfully on the shoulder with her manicured nails. "How are your classes? Any that you like? Any that you hate?"

"Well, they really are just beginning," Aoi says, and she feels her heart clench. "Some of them are nice though."

Ema chortles away. "Are you going to be this vague the entire trip? Your brother and I are dying to know what it's like. When I went, it was still a bit old and stuffy, but I know they've been making leaps and bounds to make university actually fun. Are they succeeding, or are the marketing studies just getting better at branding The University Experience?"

Akira coughs lightly into a fist. "You don't need to pressure her for details."

"Aren't you curious too? You haven't stopped worrying ever since she left."

Even when he ducks his head, Aoi sees the reds of a blooming blush. "Well," she says. "I ... guess I like one of my theatre classes. It's a history class, believe it or not. But it's ... nice. Nice history, I'd say. The sort of lecture that I'd want to pay attention to. Or maybe that's just because it's only an hour and a half long."

Ema clicks her teeth together. "I'd reckon that's the case. Gods, how can you expect anyone to stay still for three hours, with or without breaks? That's punishment."

"Preparation for the workforce?" Akira suggests.

"You give your employees more breaks that that," she says.

"True. Some businesses don't."

For a second, Aoi thinks she's off the hook. Her brother and Ema can chat away for hours while she fades into the background and amuses herself with her own thoughts. But just as they begin to wrap themselves up in their own little world, Ema snaps her head back to her and grins. "Aoi?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."

She ducks her head down, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"What? You thought the two of us would forget? That we didn't just conveniently plan a day to hang out with you on the same day as your birthday?"

"Happy birthday," her brother says.

Deep down, Aoi knew they were celebrating her birthday. It only made sense. But she has to force a smile onto her lips when they tell her about the plans for tonight because truthfully she wants to do anything but celebrate her birthday. She has papers to write and readings to do. She has so much homework that she's not even sure how it all piled up, or how she'll begin to tackle it. She has so, so much to do that why would she ever remember her birthday, much less celebrate it.

She forces the best smile she can muster. Maybe she'll celebrate her birthday for the sake of her brother.

The restaurant Akira has picked is a Mongolian grill: the sort of place where you can eat a lot of cooked food for cheap. Aoi used to like it when she was little, but it's been so long since she's been here. The restaurant is busy too: it's peak dinner time, and all around her Aoi hears the sizzle of the grill, the chatter of the people, and the massive rumble of  _ noise.  _ She's been hearing noise all day, and she was looking forward to locking herself in her room and blocking that all out.

Not today.

The server leads them to a booth table, fortunately tucked back into one of the corners. Aoi slips into her seat, and Ema pushes Akira in with her. Aoi's eyes widen.

"You two haven't seen each other in two weeks. Don't act like you're not related."

Akira settles back in his seat, and then fixes her with such a harsh stare that Aoi's stomach drops. His words come out much gentler: "I'm glad to hear you're enjoying your classes. How are your studies though? Are you keeping on top of them?"

"Yes," Aoi lies. "I don't have any paper or test scores yes, but soon ..." Soon the homework load will further increase, and she'll be drowning under all the work that she'll never get on top of. She'll be behind in every single aspect.

To change the subject, Aoi smiles and her brother and asks, "How's work?"

"Testing," he says, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I've actually hired a coder at your school, believe it or not. There's been some work I just can't seem to get anyone else to do, and I've been up to my neck in legal papers and conference calls to get Link Vrains sent to North and South America."

Ema twirls her finger around. "He didn't want to ask Kusanagi," she explains.

Aoi's eyes widen. She knows a bit about him. He's a local hacker too, and like her brother, he's self-taught. Apparently they went to high school together; Aoi has never gotten the complete, chronological story. But what she does know about Kusanagi is that he's one of the best hackers in the city, and yet instead of offering his skills to a large-scale company such as SOL Technologies, he runs a hot dog and coffee food truck called Cafe Nagi.

"Eight years later and you're still complaining about that guy." Ema takes a sip from the water they've been served, and grins over the edge of her cup. "He's got skills regardless of whether or not he's using them."

Stiffly, Akira takes a drink.

"And besides, you hired his apprentice and protege, so does it really make a difference? You still technically had to ask his help. Actually ..." Ema points her fork at Aoi. "You went to school with him, didn't you? Fujiki?"

"Yeah, we were in the same graduating class ..." She only remember him because he was in her class and once she saw him tinkering with dueling technology. He never came to the school's dueling club, and she never pressed him.

"Speaking of friends—have you made any in your class? Your classmates are great resources for getting notes and help."

Aoi wants to comment that she and Yuusaku were nothing more than acquaintances, but the larger issue at hand is that she doesn't have any friends on campus either. She sits in the back of the class every single day, and when it's a practical class, she tries to find ways to not be seen by her instructor. Outside of class, she stays in her bedroom. The only person she's talked to is Spectre, her roommate, but outside of hellos and goodbyes, she's never associated with him.

"Are you making friends?" Akira presses.

"A bit," Aoi says. It's not a true lie. "But I'm also studying a lot."

"Good."

"No one?" Ema says. "Hey, what about your roommate? What's he like?"

Aoi swallows thickly. "He's ... nice. Very chatty and friendly, seems fairly studious but not uptight."

"Is he a partier?" Akira asks. He scrunches up his nose and creases the semi-permanent wrinkles on his forehead.

"No, just naturally social," Aoi says. "It's mainly been the two of us around."

Ema clicks her tongue. "Have you gone out with him?"

"Gone ..." Aoi's throat turns dry.. "N-no, we're not—"

"Sorry, wrong phrase!" Ema says. "I mean, have you two hung out at all? When I was in uni, my roommate and I did all sorts of things together: study, go for hikes, cook food together. Maybe it was because we were in the same program, but we acted like sisters. Do you think you'll be able to hang out with your roommate—what was his name again?"

"Spectre. And ... maybe."

_ Maybe in a thousand years. _

"It would be a great way to get out and meet someone," Ema says. "What sort of things does he like?"

More than ever, Aoi wishes Ema would drop this conversation, but even her brother seems interested in her roommate. Or maybe that's just the protective big brother instincts kicking in.

"I'm not really sure. He's the studious type too."

Another lie.

"So the two of you study all the time?" Akira says. He seems pleased by this answer, nodding his head once or twice.

Ema laughs. "How boring! Do you two just spend all your time in separate rooms studying?"

"Pretty much," Aoi says, and for once it's mostly the truth. She hasn't talked to Spectre beyond good mornings and goodbyes, and frankly she doesn't want to do anything else.

For the rest of the evening, Ema presses her with so many questions under the moon. She doesn't seem to stick to one topic too often, and when Akira grows quiet she drags him back into the conversation. She fills up most of the conversation, but once her brother and Ema stop picking at her for details on school, Aoi finds that she rather likes being squished up in the booth with them. The clatter of the restaurant doesn't hurt her brain quite so much, and she laughs more easily and freely.

The car ride home is dreadful.

She sits alone in the back seat, her knees smushed together and her hands tucked between her thighs. The city lights are swallowed up by the dark, night sky. Without even the glow of the moon, Akira and Ema's faces are shadows up ahead of her. They feel so much further away than they did at the restaurant.

When the car pulls round into the campus, the stones in her heart reappear. Akira comes round to open the door for her, and Aoi slowly slips off her seat and walks towards her campus. Akira and Ema both follow her. Aoi stops them at the door, turning round.

Her throat feels like it's been closed together with glue.

"I hope you have a good day at class tomorrow," her brother says, pulling her into a tight hug. As soon as his arms wrap around her, her heart clenches and shatters. She doesn't cry, not while he can see her, but so many feelings well up in her chest that she  _ wishes  _ she could simply cry it out in front of him and then move on with her day. It would make everything so much easier. But she do want cry, and neither does her brother. After a moment, Ema wraps her arms around the both of them and pulls them into an odd huddle.

"Call us more, all right, Aoi? Just because we're a bit of a drive away doesn't mean we don't want to talk to you. And you"—she bonks heads with Akira—"need to call her more too. Aren't you the president of the Overprotective Big Brother Squad?"

Aoi laughs weakly. Sometimes, she wishes her brother were. She liked being coddled.

They break apart. The cold sweeps between them; Aoi tugs her jacket tightly over her chest.

"See you," she says.

"Happy birthday, Aoi!" Ema says.

"Have a good night, Aoi," Akira says.

Then the black car disappears into the night. Aoi waits around on the porch to see if they come back for her; maybe she forgot something in the car. But the don't come back, and when the cold seeps into her jacket, she heads inside the dorm room. It's not all that late, but the lobby is quiet and the rooms are too. There are no parties tonight, it seems.

Inside her dorm room, it's brighter than a lit stage. Aoi blinks and stumbles back into the closed door. Spectre lounges on the couch, flicking through several books stacked on the coffee table. He waves at her when she reappears.

"Hey, how was your night?"

"Good," Aoi says, already marching off to her room.

"Happy birthday, by the way."

Freezes. "S-sorry?"

Spectre smiles. "This is going to sound really weird, but my friend's boyfriend ... knows you. He says he does—Fujiki Yuusaku, that's his name. Says he went to highschool with you or something. Anyways, he said it was your birthday."

Aoi swallows thickly. One hand tightens round her handle. She and Yuusaku used to duel online and were among the top competitive duelists in Link Vrains. The fact that they went to high school is trivial; they were in the same class for all three years and never spoke to each other. But she supposes that, since they used to chat online, he would know her birthday.

"Thanks," she says.

But once more, Spectre cuts her off before she can lock herself in her room and flop down.

"I got you something."

"Oh, you didn't have—"

"It's not a present."

In his hands is a letter. It looks handmade, perhaps even hurriedly done while she was out at the restaurant with her brother. Out of politeness, Aoi takes it but does not open it.

"You going to open it?"

"I'm going to bed."

"Oh. Night."

The door opens easily. "Night," she says, and closes it behind her. Her eyes focus on the bed, rumpled sheets and wrinkly pillow far too inviting. She flops down on it, nestling her head into the covers. In her hand, she glances at the letter. Her brother has never been a card-giving sort of person, unless business cards count; and Ema prefers treating people and herself. Aoi can't even remember the last time she got a card.

Using the backlight of her phone, she shines it on the card.

"Happy birthday, Aoi," it says. "Hang in there!"

That's it.

She shoves it under her pillow and buries her face in the mattress. Just for tonight, she wants to imagine she doesn't have the weight of her life on her shoulders. She wants to close her eyes and sleep and not be plagued by nightmares, and wake up well-rested and energetic to start the day. For once, she wants to wake up to the life she actually liked, not the one she's living. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 05: envy (sort of - i took some liberties with this prompt ^^;;)

He's never liked feeling stupid. But even more, he hates feeling stupid and alone. When you're stupid and you're surrounded by other people, you don't feel alone. You feel embarrassed when you have to attend extra-curriculars classes, or when you see your other classmates succeeding too. But you aren't alone. In his university class where he can't tell who's succeeding and who's failing, he feels more alone than ever before. Is there anyone but him who doesn't get a single word the professor is talking about? What is it that he can't understand that everyone else seems to?

All class, he doodles in the margins of his paper. There's no point in listening to a lecture when he's already clueless on most of the material. Besides, there's something more pressing that he wants to investigate ...

When class ends, he rushes out of the room with the rest of the first mob, and scurries to one of the empty corners. He doesn't care if someone sees his doodles, but his e-mail is a private matter. At the top of his inbox is an e-mail from the professor who just taught his class. He saw the message right as he entered the classroom, and so he never had a free moment to check it until now.

He already knows what it's going to say.

_ Bring up your grades or else you'll fail this class. _

Normally, that wouldn't bother him. He'll retake it. No one in his class will know if he's taken it earlier, and since the class is so large, the teacher won't recognise him either. But no, if only it were that easy, for right underneath that poignant line is an entire paragraph about how essential this class is to the program, and that without the passing credit he'll be unable to move on in the program until he completes it.  _ That  _ has him petrified. He'd have to retake it next year, not next semester—and he wouldn't be able to move on in the program until then.

Thus, his entire academic career is riding on passing this  _ one  _ class. It sounds wholly unfair and selfish.

Growling, he shoves his phone into his pocket and marches out of the room. His feet stomp first on the linoleum, then the cement, and then finally the damp grass of one of the campus' parks. It doesn't matter which one it is. He needs to sit and pause and think before his mind explodes.

He plops down underneath the nearest tree, spreading out his arms and legs and closing his eyes. The thoughts swirl like a maelstrom in his head, but eventually they lessen to lapping waves at the corners of his mind; their violentness ebbs away, but he still feels a perpetual tension headache behind his eyes. That won't go away anytime soon.

For as long as he can manage, he lies underneath the shade of the tree and lets his mind rest itself. His body aches from long nights spent gaming or reading, and his neck feels like it has a bump on it from being craned over his paperwork. He's studied, darn it—not a lot, but he's studied, so how did this happen? How could things turn out this way for him?

The peace of the forest no longer appeals to him. Instead, it's become too quiet. At one point in his life, he liked the peace and quiet. He could feel calm among nature and never have to wander far from its safe abode. But he's grown accustomed to other people too—Ryouken, mostly, but just being among people provides him comfort. It's why he spends as much time as he can in busy places so he never has to feel disconnected from anyone ever again.

He tilts his head towards his watch. Aoi should be getting out of class soon. She never says much to him beyond "hello" and "goodbye," but right now that's all Spectre needs to hear. He wanders back towards the dorm building, dragging his feet all the while. The loud chitter-chatter of students rings in his ears and drowns out his own internal monologue. It grows quieter as he ascends the stairs, but when he stands before his own door, he hears another sound.

Aoi's already home.

"Hey there," he says, throwing open the door. "Say, how was ..."

The words die on his tongue. Normally, Aoi is in her locked room, or soon to be heading there. But she doesn't look like she'll be moving anytime soon. She's sitting on the cold kitchen floor, knees pulled up to her chest, and sobbing. Not quietly either, but the deep, ragged sobs of someone who must have been holding it in for a while.

He honestly doesn't know what to do.

Aoi lifts her head when he closes the door, but then she drops her head back down and continues to cry.

Never before has she been in the kitchen with him. Never before has she left her room to do anything but go out the door. Never before has Spectre ever had a conversation for her. He steps into the kitchen to make himself some tea, and distantly wonders if he's being rude simply standing there ignoring her obvious grief.

"You want some tea?"

She probably can't hear him over her crying.

"I'm making you a cup too."

She doesn't say anything back.

He busies himself with spooning the tea into his strainer, and then waiting for the kettle to boil. He checks over his shoulder. Her cries have become quieter, but she hasn't moved from her spot on the floor. He's heard her cries through the bedroom door, and he expects her to bolt at any moment. But she doesn't move away. Her shoulders shake with barely-contained sobs and gasps, muffled into her cupped hands.

When the kettle clicks off, he pours and steeps the tea for them. He sets her cup down by her feet, and holds his own in his hands.

"Do you want to talk?"

Aoi shakes her head.

"You sure?"

Aoi nods her head.

"All right." He leaves the tea by her, and takes his own mug over to the couch. He doesn't hear her cry, or drag her mug off the counter and sip it. But then he also doesn't hear her get up from the floor. She's cried before, but she's always been in her room. He expects her to bolt to her bedroom and never speak to him, but she doesn't do anything.

So Spectre does something.

"Want to hear about my shitty day?"

"Hm?" Just a sound.

He peeks over the top of the couch. Her eyes are shielded by her messy, brown hair, but she's tilted her head towards him. A tremor passes through her body.

"My day," Spectre repeats. "My awful, shitty, no-good day. Want to hear about it?"

"Mhm."

Spectre smiles. "I'm failing my classes. Badly. I'm going to have to retake a course if I don't pass an upcoming test, and I'm so far behind there's no way I'll make it in time. But naturally that doesn't matter. What does matter is that if I don't pass this class, I won't be able to advance in the program; it's an essential course. And ... I can't afford to retake the course. I have enough money to cover this year's tuition, but even if I worked all summer, I wouldn't have enough to cover the course, and continue on with the program."

He waves his hand around in a circle. "So I'm just waiting for my death, or something like that." He chuckles. "You too?"

Through her bangs, he sees her teeth sunk deep into her pink lip. "Not funny."

"No, but it's not like I want to feel anything else about it." Spectre drops back on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "There's not much I can do about it but hope, I guess."

She doesn't reply.

Spectre lets out a sigh built up in his lungs. Too melancholic, huh? Does he need to butter her up and give her a friendship speech? Ryouken would just tell him to "study harder" but that's a no-brainer, and besides Spectre thinks that some people are meant to fail university. The world isn't made for everyone to succeed. Aoi probably feels the same way.

"Want to grab something to eat?"

Aoi blinks.

Spectre tilts his head towards the door. "Eat. I'm hungry and it's late, and I bet you haven't cooked. Let's go grab something to eat."

Aoi keeps on blinking at him.

"Or do you want take-out?"

For just a second, he sees a light flicker in her eyes.

"Take-out it is," he says. He pulls out his phone and dials the nearest pizza number. He doubts she'll be able to speak to him and tell him what she likes, so he orders something or everything; he has the money to splurge just this once. Then he marches over to where Aoi still sits, knees pulled up to her chest. She has her back to the cupboards, and her head just under the drawer of silverware.

"You can't sit there all night," he says, and reaches down to take her hand. Aoi flinches away at once, and Spectre brushes his hand on his pants. "Just stand up then. You can't sit on the kitchen floor. At least sit on the couch."

Aoi sniffles at him, but she gets up and carries herself over to the couch. She drops down onto the cushions and sinks back into her seat. Every inch of her exudes weariness. Probably hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in who knows how long. But as soon as she's seated, she looks a bit more comfortable and happier, as if that small favour lifted her spirits. Spectre shrugs to himself and sits down on the opposite loveseat.

Then he waits.

As much as he enjoys being around people, he also likes talkative people: lively places and music, and areas of town that are bursting with life and rhythm. Aoi is anything but lively at this moment, and he feels his insides squirm. Would it be rude for him to start talking to her and brush off how, not even ten minutes ago, she was a wreck on the floor? Would it be more insensitive to talk about that, or brush it off like it never happened? Ryouken has already told him he's insensitive enough.

"You got any hobbies?"

Aoi glares at him.

"I do," he continues, waving her off. "I'm a gardener. You allergic to flowers or anything? I want to spice this place up; it looks so dreary."

She says nothing more.

Behind him, the doorbell rings; take-out on campus is far quicker than ordering off-campus. Spectre slides out of his seat and pays for the food, and then carries the boxes over to the table. He doesn't remember what he even ordered, but gooey, greasy, cheesy pizza sounds like comfort food. He snatches up a slice and catches the excess cheese that drips off the side.

"Thanks."

He blinks. She's barely spoken to him, and every time she has has been a "hello" or "goodbye." To hear something new from her sounds so strange to his ears. He hates to admit it, but he once thought that she knew no more words than greetings.

Aoi reaches across the table and picks up a slice. She tilts her head back to bite off the cheese dripping over the edges, and then takes a full bite. Relaxing back into the couch, she rests her head against the cushions. Then, quieter than a mouse, she whispers, "This is so good."

"Campus food isn't that bad," Spectre says.

"Yeah right," Aoi mumbles.

"I said not bad, not great. It's still shit compared to anywhere else."

"This is shit I need though."

With each word she says, Spectre feels his heart swell a little more—with what? Pride? Joy? Is he some parent that's so proud he's brought his child out of her slump? No doubt when she heads back into her bedroom she'll cry herself to sleep, but for once she doesn't look stressed or disinterested. She's kicked her feet up onto the coffee table and stretched out. She must be taller than him, and tallness must run in her family too.

"Well, glad you and your picky tastes approve."

Aoi glares over her pizza at him. A flash of sorrow flickers over her face, and then she shoves the rest of her slice into her mouth and picks up another one. "Hm," she says first, and then swallows. "Whatever."

Spectre grabs the remote sitting on the console and turns on the TV. "Let's watch something. You like nature documentaries?"

"Sure."

He switches to the channel and settles back in his seat. Ryouken always refused to watch these shows with him; he doesn't like watching TV that teaches you stuff. He'd much rather watch mindless television or mystery shows that wrack your brain. But Aoi seems interested as she munches her way through the rest of the pizza. She doesn't get up, or look like she wants to leave. Halfway through the episode, she curls her legs to the side and settles against the arm of the sofa. Spectre stretches out too and yawns loudly.

He doesn't remember the end of the episode.

In the morning, he wakes up to the taste of pizza on his tongue, and he pulls a face. Through his bleary eyes, he sees the stack of cardboard boxes on the table. Did they really eat all of that? No wonder his stomach feels like it's been through a meat grinder; he has such a specific diet that one binge-night would be enough to knock him onto his ass. As the events of last night surface, he remembers Aoi. She didn't fall asleep on the couch either.

On cue, Aoi's bedroom door opens. She looks tired from their late night, but there's a sparkle in her eyes that he's never seen before. No doubt she's thinking about last night too, and whatever happened to her before he found her crying in the kitchen. But instead of heading past him and muttering a "morning," she stops at the foot of the couch and stares at him.

"Want a cup of tea?" she asks. "I can make one before I go."

Spectre smiles. "Sure."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 06: playing games  
> this chapter such a breeze to write! <3

The pit in her stomach is still there. It sits low in her belly like an unborn child from an unplanned pregnancy, and while she knows there's no child leeching off her, she still feels herself sap away, bit by bit, every single day. No matter how many times she breaks down and cries her eyes dry, the pit remains. She doubts it'll ever fade away until she's long completed university and settled in whatever adult life she's made for herself.

But even with the pit in her belly comes small sparks of joy—fleeting thoughts and feelings that ebb and flow like ocean waves. She can't see the ocean from her spot nestled in the forest grove, but the sight before her is just as beautiful: every colour of green painted on the large leaves of various shrubs and trees. Potted flowers sit along the pathways, but Aoi has ducked out of view.

She wiggles her phone in her hands, repeatedly opening and closing the lock screen. Time is moving slower than a snail, it seems. But when it strikes three o'clock, she unlocks her phone and calls right away.

Ema picks up with a laugh. "Were you watching the time or something? I literally just stepped out of the office."

Aoi laughs too. "Yeah ... maybe ..."

"Silly girl." Through the little speaker comes a rustle from Ema adjusting the device. "So how are classes? You called me, for once."

"They're all right," Aoi says. It's neither the truth nor a lie. "I think I got lucky with my teachers."

"That's always a bonus," Ema says. "And homework, how's that going?"

Her teeth sink into her lip. She called Ema out of ... desperation? Desire to confide in someone that she truly knows? She broke down in front of Spectre once, and while it was a cathartic release, it's not like she can easily dump her problems on her roommate's shoulders; he's still a stranger. She can't tell Akira either, not unless she wants him fretting away. But Ema is trustworthy.

"It goes ...." Aoi says, and she leaves the words hanging like bait.

Ema catches on at once. "That doesn't sound good. Is it the amount, or the difficulty?"

"Both, I think ..." Aoi tucks her legs up to her chest, and wraps an arm around herself. "It's just ... different."

"I get it," Ema says. "Well, I might not get exactly what's going on for you, but would believe it if I told you that I failed classes too? Or barely passed them? Some classes just don't work out." She clicks her tongue, and then adds, "Have you considered getting a tutor? Or going to those help desks?"

She hasn't. That would be admitting she is struggling, and Aoi refuses to mingle with anyone else. She'd rather suffer in silence than be tutored.

Her silence speaks volumes.

"Hm. Well, what about friends in your classes? You don't even have to tell them that you're struggling, just ask if they want to study together, or if you can share notes?" A pause. "Do you have friends in your classes?"

"Maybe ... no ..." No one even speaks to her in her classes.

"Would you consider asking them for help?"

"Maybe ..." She probably sounds so distant right now. Her brain hurts just thinking about all the decisions she has to make. It would be so much easier just to have the world make all her decisions for her. Then she wouldn't have to worry about classes or grades, or down the road future career plans.

"You don't sound convinced," Ema says. She sighs into the receiver. "Look, kiddo: if you don't do anything, you're going to get yourself into a real pickle, and I bet you don't want that. And I know you probably don't want to do anything, and all suggestions sound like terrible solutions. But the thing is that if you just don't do anything, it's only going to get worse. The problem won't solve itself."

"I know ..."

"So I hate to be the hard-ass, but if you want to continue on to the next year, you need to prioritise something. Do you have a class that you need to pass to continue on with the program?"

"Yeah ..."

"Then you need to start studying for that one. Sometimes you can't pass all your classes in one semester, or get top grades for all of them, so you have to be creative with how you spend your time, or else you'll just get burnt out and fail all of them. All right, love?" There's a smile behind her words despite how blunt and serious they are, and Aoi tucks her cheek into her shoulder. If she had this same conversation with her brother, it would have only ended in tears. She wouldn't have listened to him because he wouldn't have understood, or he would have explained it in such abstract terms that eventually she'd have given up trying to make sense of all of it. But with Ema, she can understand. A bit.

"Is there anything else bugging you?" Ema asks.

Shuffling back against the bark of the tree, she murmurs, "I can't wait to see you again."

Ema hears the feelings behind the words. "I miss you too, and your brother does too. We should go out to eat again, binge out on gross food. Oh, how about you stay over for the weekend sometime? We could have a movie night. Of course, that would all depend on your school schedule and your brother's work schedule. Lucky me; I always have free time."

Aoi lets out a short, stunted laugh. "Yeah, that would be nice ..."

"But until then ... Aoi, do you have anyone you can hang out with at uni? I know I'm going to harp on you about this, but university really can be a good time in your life. I know I spouted before that you should 'make the most out of uni,' and maybe that wasn't the best thing to say right before you were about to head off into a new adventure ... but really, making the most means just doing what you want to do. If you want to keep calling us and hanging out with your brother and I, then we'll welcome you with open arms: we're your family. But I bet just one friend could make your day a little bit brighter, don't you think?"

"Sure," Aoi says.

"Well if that isn't a convincing tone." Ema laughs, louder and rowdier than normal, and it gets Aoi chuckling too. "But seriously, what about your roommate. What's he like?"

"Spectre? He's ... nice."

"Again, real convincing. Do you not like him, or do you just not really know him?"

"Not really know him." Now that she thinks about it, Spectre probably knows more about her than she knows about him, and he speaks far more than her. She knows he has friends, and goes to school, but she can't give a single specific detail. They've spoken too since her meltdown on the kitchen floor. "But it's not a bad thing or anything," she feels like saying. "I guess we just ... don't talk."

"But you want to talk?"

Aoi feels her cheeks heat up, and a fluttery feeling grow in her stomach. She's never felt it before, and when she tries to get her words out, they have to squeeze through her windpipe. "Sure. He seems more interesting than anyone else in my class."

"Biased," Ema teases. "But hey Aoi, why don't you hang out with him?"

"Like study?"

"No, like hang out. You made it quite clear that you weren't going to study with anyone else, whether in your class or with a private tutor, so I'm not going to push that. But 'making the most of uni' can also mean having fun with friends, so why not try to get to know your roommate? Hang out with him one day or something."

"Technically, we already have," Aoi says. And then, without going into great detail, but offering up enough that Ema does pry too hard, she adds, "We ate greasy pizza late one night and talked about his woes or something. Does that count?"

"In my books, it does," Ema says. "See Aoi, do something like that. Hey, you should go see if he's around right now and just ask him to hang out. Do it. See what he says."

She hasn't hung out with anyone in years. She used to go to a dueling club, but that wasn't really hanging out. For the most part, she just stayed home by herself, waiting for her brother to return home. She played on Link Vrains any chance she could get, but like the dueling club, that wasn't really 'hanging out.' She did spend a lot of time with a duelist named Playmaker, who was her classmate Yuusaku, but ...

"Come on, you sounded into it before."

Aoi sighs into the phone. "Yeah, sure," she says, and she feels her lips quirk a bit. "Why not, I guess?"

"That's more enthusiasm than before," Ema says. "Order pizza for him and sit on the couch and talk about your woes or something, or do anything fun. Literally anything. And tell me how it goes, all right? You don't have to worry about texting me; I'll always be here for you, but I want you to depend on your friends too."

"Got it," Aoi says. "Talk to you later."

"Ciao!"

Aoi ends the call. She slips her phone into her pocket and pushes up from the ground. Her legs ache from crouching behind the tree, and her first few steps onto the pathway cause her to stumble. She quickly rights herself and heads off towards the building. Even though she's never talked to Spectre about his school schedule, she knows when he does and doesn't have classes. He should be home, unless he's out with his friends.

In the lobby, she sees another group of students on the couch. Maybe, one day, she and Spectre can sit down here. But Aoi also likes her couch and loveseat, and her cosy apartment. She can already picture sinking down into the lumpy cushions. 

When she reaches the doorway though, it's anything but quiet in the apartment. Without even pressing her ear to the door, she can hear several voices shouting. Spectre is by no means quiet, but he rarely raises his voice.

She pushes open the door and peers inside.

There on the couch is Spectre—not lounging around drinking tea or reading a book, but perched up like a bird with his arms braced out on either side of him. He's holding a controller; up on the TV, she sees he's playing some sort of racing game. It's not just him. On the loveseat are two of Spectre's friends, she supposes: a white-haired man with a sharp, mature face; and a blue-haired boy who she recognises as Yuuskau, her old high school classmate.

Before she can get a word out, Spectre shouts, "Hey, Aoi!"

"... hi," she says, sliding inside and toeing the door closed behind her. All hopes of hanging out with Spectre are down the drain now, and the stone in her stomach twinges. She had actually been looking forward to a peaceful afternoon, but now there are strangers—or one stranger and an old classmate—sitting in her dorm room.

No one says anything until the race finishes. Spectre growls and tosses down his controller; the white-haired stranger leans back with a fierce smirk; and Yuusaku sets his controller down on the coffee table and looks right at Aoi. Would he recognise her, she wonders. It hasn't been that long since she graduated.

After one more groan, Spectre rolls his head to the side and smiles at Aoi. "Game night," he says. "Or day. Want to join?"

"... sure," Aoi says. Normally, she'd run away and hide into her room, and while that would seem rude right from the start, now that she's hung around the living room for a minute, it would seem ever ruder to leave afterwards. She sets her backpack in the kitchen and settles down on the couch next to Spectre. He pushes a bowl full of crackers towards her.

"Thanks."

Spectre shrugs off the reply. "You probably don't know everyone here, but allow me to introduce—"

"I know Yuusaku."

He blinks. "You know ..."

Yuusaku speaks up: "She was in my homeroom class for three years. We used to be partners on Duel Links too."

Aoi nods. "I've probably known him longer than you have."

Rolling his eyes, Spectre jabs a finger at the stranger. "Do you know who that is?"

Aoi shakes her head.

"Ryouken. Yuusaku's boyfriend, and my  _ friend."  _ He claps his hands together. "Introductions sorted, now who's playing?"

Ryouken tilts his head towards the screen. "Four players, or two teams?"

Realising that somehow she's been swept into this, and that wanting to join involves playing, Aoi quickly glances at the screen. The only game she's ever played is duel monsters in Link Vrains. This looks like a simple racing game, and with a controller than looks like a steering wheel, how hard could it be?

Spectre passes a controller to her. "Teams," he says. "Ryouken and Fujiki, and me and Aoi."

"T-teams?" Aoi says. She fumbles with the sides of the controller. Hold it like a wheel, right? Turn to move your character? She wonders if she should ask about the instructions, but by that point Ryouken has already switched stages and he and Yuusaku have picked their own characters. If there's any methodical reason to choose certain characters, Aoi can't figure it out.

"Pick this one," Spectre says, grabbing her controller and pointing it to one of the characters. "Good for beginners."

Aoi nods, and then says, "You know I haven't played this before."

"Well, Yuusaku just started playing today too, so you two will be evenly matched."

She wants to add on that, at least when she was in high school, Yuusaku was called 'Playmaker' because he was the best at all games, like the King of Games. Without a doubt he's already mastered this racing game too. But then again ... she used to be Link Vrains' best Charisma Duelist, so maybe that title has its perks too.

On the screen flashes a timer. She holds the remote out. The track is a straightaway at first, and then curving into a left turn. Three laps total.

How hard could it be?

_ Go! _

With a surge of adrenaline, Aoi pushes the remote out in front of her.

Her character doesn't move.

"Wha—"

"Aoi, give it gas!" Spectre says.

"You didn't tell me about that?!"

"Press the white button!"

She slams her thumb down on the button and her kart shoots forward down the track. She slides into the first turn, and then the second. But ahead of her is everyone else, even the CPUs that are set on the weakest setting. She growls low in her throat. Could he have at least told her about the basic controls of this game? In Link Vrains, your D-Board moves with you; you don't have to press a button.

"You should help your partner," Ryouken teases.

Aoi clenches her teeth. His deep, gravelly voice grates on her tense nerves, yet he does have a point.

"Spectre—"

"Hey, grab those boxes, they give items!"

She jerks her kart to the side, swiping in to grab a randomised item that appears in her inventory. It looks useful, maybe. "How do I use this?"

"The B button!"

"The  _ what  _ button?" Aoi turns to the side, and tries to peer over her controller. Where is the B button here? There are buttons on the front and the back, and if they're labelled, she can't see them while also trying to pay attention to how the track has turned from slightly swervy dirt path to  _ fucking lava on the ground and a spiral up to the volcano's peak! _

"The button on the back!"

Stretching her fingers out, she hits the square button on her controller. Whatever item she has surges forward with a blinding blue light, and up ahead on her screen someone's kart goes flying with a big bang.

"Fuck," Ryouken mutters.

Spectre laughs loudly, kicking his feet out with glee. "Good one, Aoi."

She has no clue what she even did. The volcano terrain has since disappeared, replaced with a dense, tropical jungle with such a rickety path that her kart bounces along on its little wheels. Turns have since become difficult, and she sucks in a breath each time she narrowly misses flying  _ off the road and into the ditch.  _ What would happen then? Would she lose the game? Fortunately, her driving seems to have improved. She can see the players up ahead of her, and she's passed at least three of them.

"Damn, Yuusaku's in first," Spectre mutters.

She can't even seen first place on her screen. Yuusaku must be leagues ahead. In the corner of her screen, she sees an item—not the blue one she had before, but a red shell. She chucks it forward to see what happens, but instead of flying up into the sky, it simply glides forward and knocks into whoever was ahead of her.

"Fuck!" Spectre shouts, and then, "Aoi, was that you?"

"No," Aoi says quickly.

"We're on a team!"

She twists her arms to the side to avoid sliding off the cliff. "How come I can hit my own team mate then?" She doesn't mean to snap, but how—how can you hurt the people on your team?

"Because we're not playing the team option," Ryouken says. "You have to be careful or else you'll foil who you love most—"

"You destroyed me, Aoi!"

"Like so." Ryouken smiles over the top of his controller. "There is no one out there that you can trust."

Yuusaku elbows him in the side. "Cut that out. You're in fourth place and she's going to pass you."

She is. Now that Aoi has begun to piece together the different parts of the screen, she can see the players ahead of her and who she has to hit. Spectre is behind her; not that she can see him, or care to look at his screen, but he's loudly complaining that he's in sixth. On her screen she can see Ryouken, gliding into turns with some special ability. She doesn't need to know how to do that. She just needs another one of those red shells, or a blue shell to knock out Yuusaku who has surpassed them all.

She drives into the next box.

_ Give me something good. _

A green shell.

Aoi chucks it out before she knows what to do with it. Only she doesn't see the shell fly forward towards Ryouken. She blinks. Was it not like the red shell? Where did it—

"Aoi, fuck!"

Oh. It went backwards.

She crosses the finish line in fourth place, with Ryouken in second and Yuusaku in first. Spectre crosses in sixth, after her shell not only knocked him backwards, but off the ledge he was  _ drifting across  _ and sending him so far back that he wasn't able to catch up. She has to laugh at it. What were the chances of her hitting him  _ twice  _ with her shells?

"We were on a  _ team,"  _ Spectre says with a pout.

"I don't think we were," Aoi says. "I shouldn't be able to hit my own team mates."

"It's better to play without teams," Yuusaku says. "If you choose team mode, we'd only race against each other and without any CPUs. With battle royale, you have twelve racers."

"And it's bad to just have four racers?"

Ryouken laughs, rich and hearty. He sounds like he should be several years older than them all, but Aoi guesses he's a first-year university student too. "If there are just four of us, with only two teams, it would be a bloodbath."

Truthfully, Aoi would much prefer that. But she laughs, and before she realises what she's done, pats Spectre on the back. "Cheer up," she says. " Beginner's luck, right?"

"No," Ryouken says helpfully, "you're probably just better than him."

"You were only in second place because Yuusaku helped you out," Spectre says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Aoi truly doubts that, but she doesn't say anything. She sinks back into the couch, controller nestled in her lap. A nagging part of her mind wonders if she's overstayed her visit and that she should sneak back to her room, but the couch is comfy and warm, she's found, much comfier than her desk chair or her bed.

On cue, her stomach growls loudly.

"Hungry?" Spectre says with a snort.

She ignores the jab and gazes around the room. "Do you ... want to order pizza?"

"Sure," Spectre says. At the mention of food, all his butthurt moping has disappeared, and he leaps off the couch and goes to grab his phone. "We've got to get delivery from the campus, that shit is dirt cheap I tell you."

Aoi glances over to Ryouken and Yuusaku. "You too?"

"Sure," Yuusaku says with a shrug.

Ryouken nods. "We'll stay for a while then."

 

Aoi texts Ema late at night, well past midnight, when she's nearly passed out on her bed after a long evening of gaming. No one left until they'd successfully played through every single level of the racing game, passing one controller around so they could each take a stab at a level. Yuusaku still had to be the one to defeat the final boss, but as Aoi found out, it wasn't just luck that she came in fourth in the first race; she's just that much better than Spectre.

But even with everything running through her mind that she can hardly close her eyes to sleep, Aoi doesn't know what she can text Ema.

So she sends one message.

> _ thank u ♥ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 07: other fandom au  
> liberties taken here, as it's not really an au of sorts, but more like a "strange situation occurred and now Spectre is trying to fix it." i loosely based the idea on the Monogatari series, in that supernatural phenomena appeared from a realistic situation, but again, it's a very loose take on it ^^;;

It takes Spectre all of five seconds to realise something is wrong with today. When he wakes up and pitter-patters out of his room, scratching his messy bedhead hair, out of the corner of his eye he sees Aoi's wide open door—and not just her door, but her bedroom too, with the lights on and everything. Aoi  _ never  _ leaves her bedroom door open. She's friendlier with him, but her room is her private space.

He tries to brush it off and wanders into the kitchen to heat up the kettle. To his surprise, Aoi isn't hiding behind the fridge door, or curled up on the floor. He'd expected her to be hiding in the kitchen, ready to sneak back into her bedroom. But the space is barren—neither of them have gone shopping in a few days—and the only sign of life is the buzzing murmur through the window from all the students wandering around campus.

"Hey, Aoi," Spectre calls out. He wanders to the far side of the kitchen and peers across the room. The bathroom light isn't on; the door is wide open too, so she wouldn't be hiding in their either.

"Aoi," he tries again.

No answer.

_ Guess she went to class already,  _ he thinks. He pours himself a cup of tea and blows off the steam. Normally, he's up well before Aoi heads off to class, so no matter ... except ...

It's not a class day. It's Saturday. That means, if Aoi should be doing anything, it's sleeping the day away because she is a night owl. But she's nowhere in sight. He remembers saying goodnight to her, so unless she went off with her family and slept over there, she should be home ...

He tries not to worry. Tries harder. But he feels like he swallowed a bunch of watermelon seeds, and soon fruit will grow inside him. He swallows thickly, and then chug his scalding tea to remind himself that he's still here, and that he truly shouldn't be worrying about Aoi. She's an adult, and just his roommate; she can go off wherever she wants. But Spectre is used to being home with her, and the silent dorm room puts his teeth on edge.

Eventually, the silence eats away at him, and he dumps the rest of his tea into a travel mug and heads out of the dorm room. The hallway is deadly silent; everyone must be sleeping off their hangovers. There's no one hanging around the halls or in the stairwell, and the cosy lobby is quieter than a graveyard. Never before has he seen it so barren here; there's always some goody-two-shoes being a diligent, hardworking student just to put to shame everyone else fucking around on this swell Saturday.

But even they aren't around.

In fact, no one is around. The campus is empty, like everyone packed up and moved away before an asteroid hit the grounds. There's no chatter of students, and no one sunbathing on the lawn. Spectre drags his feet across the cement, and the noise scratches his ear drums.

"Hey," he says. "Did I miss something?" His voice echoes across the yard.

This seems ridiculous. There's no way everyone in the entire university is off-campus or hiding away. It's impossible. It doesn't make sense. But it seems like the only possibility as he wanders down the main path, peering into classrooms and dorm buildings. There are no students, teachers, or just plain  _ people  _ to be seen. No one is chattering away. From time to time, he hears vague whispers ghosting by him, but quickly Spectre begins to believe that it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

He hates tricks.

He doesn't have his phone with him—left it on his bedside table in all his hurry—so he can't call anyone to see if there's a random "Stay off DCU's campus today!" event. He doesn't even have a clock, and so it feels like hours later that he stops wandering around the campus looking for someone to tell him what's wrong. He only stops when he feels bursting blisters on his feet, and he slumps down into the booth seat of his favourite café. Without all the people around him, it feels like he's stumbled on some alternate dimension. Normally, this cafe is bursting with life: people talking over each other, the clink of clatter of dishes and plates, the gentle hiss of percolating coffee. It feels  _ wrong  _ to not have that white noise behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the counter and display case. There are fresh baked goods in there: scones, donuts, muffins, bagels; the whole nine yards of carbohydrate confections. He never had breakfast, and when he treats himself, he often visits here.

He slips out of his seat and reaches behind the display case. He peers over his shoulder, just waiting for someone to scream at him, "Stop!" But no one speaks up, and he swipes two muffins and carries them back to his seat. They don't taste stale when he bites into them, despite the fact that there seems to be no one around to bake them.

Sighing, Spectre blows on his tea.

His eyes widen in shock when, through the mist, he hears, "Did you even pay for those?"

Blinks.

There, sitting in front of him, is Ryouken. He looks like the usual Ryouken Spectre texts almost every day. In fact, it seems unreal how normal he does look. He has a cup of coffee in front of him, and he delicately brings the mug up to his lips, but does not drink. He stares over the rim of the cup.

"What?"

"What yourself?" Spectre says. "Where did you—"

"Fine, I'll go pay for them myself." Ryouken shoves his hands in his pockets and slides out of the booth. Spectre watches him with wide blue eyes as Ryouken heads to the counter, speaks to some imaginary stranger at the counter, and then returns like nothing is wrong. Only everything is wrong. Just because Ryouken is here does not change the fact that Spectre feels like he's woken up in some alternate dimension. There's still  _ no one else  _ in the cafe, much less on the entire campus. If anything, Ryouken being around just raises more suspicions.

"There," Ryouken says and he sits back down. "You owe me for next time."

"Next—what's going on?"

Ryouken takes a deep sip of his coffee. "What do you mean?"

"We're the only two people here."

"Nonsense."

"No, really," Spectre says. "There's no one else around us."

"Narcissism getting to you?" Ryouken laughs.

"This is not a laughing matter," Spectre grounds out, but he drops it for the moment. Normally, when he and Ryouken hang out, Yuusaku tags along, probably just because one of them pays for the food. But today Yuusaku doesn't seem to be sitting there, and Ryouken has made no mention that, of all the people who are  _ apparently in the cafe,  _ Yuusaku is among them. So Spectre tilts his head to the side and says, "Where's Yuusaku?"

"Sleeping," Ryouken says plainly. "We were busy last night."

"I don't want details," Spectre says, and takes another sip of his drink. He no longer feels like finishing his last muffin, and he pushes it to the side. "But hey ... did you see Aoi, by chance? She around?"

"She's your roommate," Ryouken says. "Why would I see her?"

"I dunno, maybe on your way here or something." It's a far reach; Ryouken and Aoi are only on a first-name basis from their gaming day. But then again, Aoi and Yuusaku ... "But hey, how about Yuusaku? Does he still game with her?"

"Online, yes," Ryouken says. "Do you want me to give him a text and ask?" He pauses. "What's the reason though? Wouldn't she be at home?"

"She's not." Spectre shakes his head, and swallows thickly. "She's not at home, and ... Look, just text Yuusaku and asked him if she gamed last night?"

"I can try, but he wouldn't know. Remember, I said Yuusaku and  _ I  _ were busy last night, and his hands were much more preoccupied with something else to gam—"

"Like I said," Spectre cuts in, "I don't want the details. I just want to know if Aoi was home last night. She's not home today, and she normally is. No ... she usually is. She  _ always  _ is. And something seems ... off about today."

"Something seems off about you," Ryouken says. "Look, I know you care about this girl, but just because you are her friend does not mean you need to know where she is at all times.  _ Period.  _ She'll show up when she wants to. For all you know, she's probably sleeping—"

"She's  _ not,"  _ Spectre says. He curls his hand into a fist. "She's not home. I live there too and I didn't see her. And I'm not stalking her. I just want to know where she is, all right?"

"Whatever," Ryouken says. "I'll buy it for a second. Do you want me to call Yuusaku and ask him myself, or get him to come over? I bet he's waking up, so he'll come down for breakfast."

At first, it sounds like the perfect idea. Ryouken would have no clue where Aoi is because they barely know each other, but Yuusaku would at least be able to tell him if he saw Aoi yesterday; the two of them are still gaming, he supposes. But as his gaze drifts around the room, Spectre realises that maybe that's anything but a good solution. He wouldn't be able to see Yuusaku. How he can see Ryouken is still a mystery, and he's not about to solve this problem when there is a great issue at hand.

Holding out his hand, Spectre motions for the phone. "I'll call him."

"From your own phone?" Ryouken says.

Spectre wiggles his fingers. "From yours. I left mine in my room."

"And what about calling Aoi?"

"She never answers hers."

"Fine."

Ryouken hands it over, and Spectre slides out of his seat.

"Where are you going?"

"To—to stand outside; isn't it loud in here?"

Ryouken buys the lie: "Fine."

He heads out of the café and leans back against one of the nearby trees. Apparently, there are people walking all over campus, but Spectre can't see them. He wonders if they can see him too. Is this some disease he's contracted? Or a supernatural phenomenon that only comes to people like him? The curse of always wanting to be surrounded by people is appearing invisible to them?

The dial tone in his ear rings for centuries before Yuusaku picks up with a murmured, "'Lo?"

"Fujiki."

"Wha—"

"It's Spectre," he says quickly. "Listen, did you game with Aoi yesterday?"

"No ... something else came up ..."

"Before that," Spectre says, swallowing back the growl in his throat. "Like earlier in the day, or even two nights ago?"

"Why?"

"Important stuff."

"Then no."

Spectre blinks. "No as in you don't want to tell me?"

_ "No,  _ no as in 'we've both been busy.' She and I haven't been on Link Vrains all week."

Spectre finds that hard to believe, but maybe it's just Yuusaku who hasn't been online; he knows Aoi uses dueling as an escapist behaviour for when she's down in the dumps. She's probably spent more time gaming than she has going to classes. Then again, he spends more time out of class than in class too, and he can't say he's spent that time productively either. But still. Aoi has definitely been gaming.

"Do you game on your computers?"

"Yes."

"Then would Aoi be gaming on her own computer, or could she say, go to the library?"

It takes Yuusaku a second to answer. "I guess ..."

Spectre's head flicks up towards the building. He snaps the phone closed and runs back inside to give it to Ryouken, who is still sitting in the booth, acting normal and having not disappeared. Spectre breathes a sigh of relief, but doesn't have the chance to say anything else. He drops the phone onto the table, snatches up his travel mug, and dashes back out the door. The cool, morning wind blows on his face. He sees spectres in the corners of his eyes, and he wonders if perhaps he's the one who can't see anything. Maybe it makes more sense.

It's a thought he never wants to fathom.

The library is, naturally, just as empty as everywhere else he's been. Without people crowding around tables or hunching over computer keyboards, this place looks a library in a horror game. Any second someone could jump out behind one of the bookcases and startle him. They wouldn't be able to do much, he supposes, but he keeps himself on guard.

He's only been to the library a handful of times, but on the fourth floor is the dedicated computer room. He checks there first, but all he finds are hundreds of computer screens. Oddly enough, the screens are not black, but lit with images of text documents or social media websites. The mice move on their own too—

Spectre turns around. Nope. No way he's going in there. Aoi wouldn't be gaming in such a busy place either.

He still checks all the other floors for computers. These ones are nestled in little cubicles or tucked away in the corners of rooms. The top two floors are designated quiet studying areas, and while it makes sense for those floors to be dead-silent, there's still something "deader" about them. He should be able to hear breathing, or shoes rubbing on the floors. He should feel people brushing by him.

Maybe the bigger mystery truly is why he can't see anyone else in this world.

Growling, Spectre tips his mug back to sip his tea. It's still scalding, as if he just poured it out of the kettle, and so he blows on it—

"Hey, careful."

_ Wait … what? _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 08: dreams  
> also the conclusion to the Other Fandom AU chapter - let's see what's really going on here, and where's Aoi?!

Steam billows from the top of his travel mug through the air, and then lands on someone's face. He doesn't recognise the student, nor does he care, but through the steam Spectre  _ sees someone.  _ It's the first person he's seen since he left the cafe, and Ryouken was the only person he could spot there. But then ...

The steam.

Spectre blows on the steam again, this time away from the stranger's face. At first, nothing appears—but then, like magic, through the foggy air he sees students studying away at the desks and wandering through the halls. When he blows and blows again, like the big bad wolf trying to knock down houses, he hears the murmur of voices in the library, and the dulled footsteps on the carpet.

He's not alone.

Quickly, he power-walks up to the final floor of the library and back to where several computer stations are nestled nearby. He blows the steam off his tea to see who is sitting around the screens, but none of the students are Aoi. Then he tries looking for a computer screen with a gaming interface, and each time he passes a student not-studying, he blows steam to spot them. Still no Aoi.

Despite his meagre success, Spectre feels like he's only uncovered the beginning of the mystery. If Aoi isn't at the library or the café, where would she be? If she went anywhere ...

"She didn't ..."

Spectre spins on his heel and  _ runs  _ through the library. He can't see or hear anyone, so if some ghostly apparition tells him not to run in the building, he can't obey them. He kicks open the main doors and dashes down the courtyard, all the way back to his dorm complex. There's no one inside, no sign of anyone—but that no longer matters. Aoi wouldn't leave the flat unless she had to, and so no doubt she's somewhere in the house.

He wrestles with his key to unlock the door, and tumbles in with a gasp. He brings his thermos up to his lips and blows, but instead of thick, billowing steam, all that happens is he sloshes his lukewarm tea.

"Fuck!"

No matter. He storms over to the electric kettle and turns it on. As fast as it may be, it feels like ages until he hears the bubble of the water and the slight whistle of steam pouring through the spout. He drums his fingers on the counter, and as soon as he sees enough steam to blow off, he yanks the little kettle off its boiling pad and carries it around the room. He huffs and puffs around the house, letting the steam filter through the rooms. But instead of it catching in the air, it merely disappears a second or two later.

"Shit!"

Still carrying the kettle, he rushes into the bathroom and turns the shower tap onto high. So what if he runs up his school's water bill? So what if the house gets moldy and mildewy? He turns the sink tap on too, and stands at the edge of the bathroom, watching the steam begin to creep up towards the ceiling. If he can't find Aoi with the kettle, he'll fill the whole house up with steam.

It feels like hours that he waits at the bathroom door, waiting for the steam to leak out of the room. At first, nothing happens. Then the steam transforms, and like a white serpent snakes its way through the house. This must truly be some kind of fever dream, but no way does he try to challenge it. Carefully, and holding the kettle out in front of him like a torch, he wanders back into the living room.

Smoke everywhere, as if someone lit a joint and hotboxed the dorm. He wouldn't be surprised if steam is leaking under their front door and choking the hallway too. But despite the surrealness, he feels quite content. Each step makes a little puff on the ground, and the fog has created its own floor that lays around his ankles.

And there on the couch is Aoi. She looks to be asleep, but at a second glance, she is just lying on her side, knees tucked up to chin. She's wrapped her arms around herself; goosebumps ripple on her skin, but whether from the cold or something else he doesn't know. She stares ahead with a vacant expression, mouth creaked open. Apparently the kettle steam wasn't enough to make her wake up, but the shower steam blankets her like a cotton cocoon.

"There you are!" Spectre says, dropping down next to her on the couch. He kicks her feet to the side to give himself some more room, and Aoi drops them down towards the floor.

She doesn't say a word.

"Gosh, what a day, huh?" he says. "First this weird smoke, then not being able to see people  _ unless there is smoke.  _ Sounds like a weird day, don't you agree?"

Still nothing.

Spectre peeks over the curve of her legs and hips to where she's nestled her face in the crook of her arm. She looks relatively unharmed, with no obvious signs of pain or distress. She doesn't even look like she did when she was crying in the kitchen. Instead, she looks ... empty. Soulless. Like she's become immune to everything in the world and has curled up to meet her demise.

Spectre shakes her foot. "Aoi." And then again. "Aoi, hey—"

"Stop."

He stops shaking her, but keeps his hand on her foot. "Aoi, listen up: something weird is happening—"

"It doesn't matter."

He raises an eyebrow. Between the two of them, he assumed Aoi was much more afraid of the supernatural, or even just a general fraidy-cat. But while she's lying like a statue on the couch, he's shaking in his seat. It's not cold; he knows that. There's just something about the fog that has sent a chill  _ through  _ his skin and into his soul. It doesn't feel right to feel this way, and he wishes he could put an end to it. Somehow.

"What doesn't matter?" he says. "What's that even mean?"

"What it means."

"You're not helping me here." He gives her one more shake, and then stops again. "Listen, even if you don't care about what's going on, something weird is going down. Something truly, truly, weird. And I need you to listen and hear me out—"

"It's fine."

He growls low in his throat, like a prowling predator. "No, it's not  _ fine _ —we're in some shit, Aoi! Some deep shit! Help me out!"

Hysteria won't help him, but it releases the ghostly hand gripping his heart.

It doesn't affect Aoi in the slightest. "I don't care."

"About what?" Spectre tries. "What don't you care about?"

"This."

"What's this?"

"All this."

"Really, what are you—"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees papers on the ground, peeking through the fog covering the floor. He mustn't have seen them before because his first two thoughts were steam and then Aoi, but now that he's more settled—in a strange, totally-not-settled-way—he sees the papers. He scoops them up off the ground and rifles through them. Out of the corner of his eye, he waits for Aoi to snatch them away and toss them over the back of the couch, but she doesn't move a muscle.

They're grades. Papers, quizzes, all marks that she's received from her classes. All failing marks too. They're not scribbled with red pen or anything horrible, but the grade is still there on one page or another, and Aoi must've seen all of them. But then, beneath the stack of papers, are loose-leaf pages of  _ handwritten work:  _ lecture notes, studying guides, homework materials. They're a bit crinkled at the edges, and at places he can tell she was rushing to get all the information down. But there are notes.

He gazes back and forth between the grades and the notes.

"You've been studying?"

Aoi nods her head up and down, and swallows back a sob.

"You studied hard too," Spectre says, and whistles. He hardly takes notes in his classes, and while he gets around the same grades as Aoi, with her it appears she was putting in effort. Solid effort. The kind teachers expect from students and often say ‘If you work hard, you'll get good grades.’

"I can't ..." Aoi swallows. "I can't study anymore. That's the best I can do."

"Really?"

He expects her to lunge at him for an insensitive comment like that. But she doesn't. She doesn't move an inch. "Really," she says. And then, sofly, with her lips pressed into the couch, "I can't do it."

He swallows thickly. He barely passes his classes too, but he knows if he put in the effort, he'd achieve greater things ... so why hasn't that worked for Aoi? How come she can't achieve anything either?

"Well ..." He tries. "Well, what if you studied more?"

"M ... more?"

"More—like a tutor or something? There are tutors here even, I think. Yeah, but you have to sign up in advance for them, and they won't be as good as a private tutor. But you might need that."

She rubs her face into the couch. "I don't want that ..."

He growls. "What do you want then?"

"To pass. To pass without having to ... to do everything, I guess." She lifts her head slightly, and narrows her eyes like she's calculating the insensitivity of his next words. "Everyone else passes easily, so why ..."

_ Why not me,  _ her silence says.

Spectre doesn't know what to say about that. What can he tell her—to work harder? To go to such lengths to get better and better at her schoolwork? To make a wish on a star? His head feels foggy, and around him the steam has covered the entire room. Sooner or later, all the clean air is going to disappear, and he's going to be breathing in wet vapors. 

"Would you study with me?"

Aoi blinks. But the light catches in her eyes just a bit, and Spectre steamrolls forward with his next idea.

"You don't want to study with some private or school tutor, then fine. I get it. I hate those guys too. But ... but if you just mope about your unfortunate circumstances, you'll get nowhere. I promise you. If life deals you a shitty hand, you deal with it. Period. If you need to study more to pass your classes, and you actually  _ want  _ to pass them, then you have to do something, even if it seems so much easier just to hate the rest of the world for being better than you. All right? So study with me then, or with your classmates. Actually, study with them—"

"No." Aoi cuts him off, and sits up fully. She presses her back to the armest, and pulls her legs up a bit so she's lounging across the couch. "I'm not studying with them."

"Then study with me," he says.

"But you don't study ..."

"I will," he says. "Or I'll help you study, all right? If that's what you want."

"Why?"

_ Because I think I'm in a dream and I want to wake up,  _ he wants to say, or  _ Because the steam is finally clearing out of here and that means something good which means  _ I did something good. But he says neither of those things, and instead says, "Because it sounds fun."

"It sounds ... fun."

He growls under his breath, and flicks her foot with his toes. "If you don't like the offer, then don't take it and stop patronising me."

"No," she says. "No ... it's fine."

The steam sucks back from the floor, taking with it all her failed grades and notes. He wants to question where all this is going, and if he's even alive. No, he's alive, just somewhere like an alternate dimension. But he holds his tongue when he sees Aoi genuinely try to smile as she tucks her hair behind her ears. Her eyes are still too wide and red-rimmed, and she sniffles behind one of her hands. But she looks better than she did lying down on the couch like she'd chosen her final resting place.

"You said ..." she begins. "You said you were failing too, right?"

Spectre raises a hand. "Nuh uh, I don't think I said that  _ at all." _

"But you are," she says, and hums under her breath. She scratches her chin like some old-school detective, and adds, "Maybe both of us could improve our grades."

"I don't think that was the deal at all," he says, but she must not hear him over her own prattle.

"We could make a contest out of it. Or a game, actually. See who can bring whose grade up first. We help each other study, and then see on the next quiz results who has the better mark. Then, I dunno, one of us wins and the loser has to treat them, like buy pizza one night. And ... and maybe there's a grand prize at our midterms or something."

He hates to say it, but he's on board with her idea. He likes competitions, and judging by the twinkle in her eyes, she likes them too.

"Why would we need to compete?" Spectre says. "I just said I'd help  _ you—" _

"And I'll help you too," she says simply. Chuckling, she adds, "What? You can't get help too?"

"I didn't ask for it."

It gives her something to think about for a moment or two, but just when he thinks he's got her tongue-tied, she answers, "Sometimes you shouldn't have to ask for help."

"Is that why you were lying around here? Waiting for someone to stumble upon you and ask if you needed help?"

Aoi bristles at him like a wet cat, and she rolls her eyes. "I didn't say I take my own advice."

"Good for you."

Despite their bickering, the steam has nearly cleared out, even though he can still hear the shower and sink running. He should probably turn those off now. He can see Aoi clearly, and past her and out the window, he hears the chatter of students. When did he notice that the weirdness had faded away?

"Fine," he says, still not facing her.

"Fine what?" Aoi says.

"Fine, we'll play your game." He pushes himself off from the couch and heads towards the bathroom. Though he can't see her, he hears the childish glee in her next words.

"For real?"

"Whatever." He turns off the sink taps, and then the shower tap. Steam remains in the corners of the tub and clinging to the tap, but it neither feels chilly nor disturbing. No steam-snakes are going to blaze through the room and turn the flat into a vapor hotbox. Nothing of the sort is going to happen.

For the rest of the day, nothing weird happens. He spends the afternoon playing video games with Aoi—she  _ was  _ gaming last night, believe it or not, but also studying until the early hours of the morning. They order pizza for dinner, and though he insists on splitting the bill, she pays to thank him for his sweet, albeit tough-love, words that she needed to hear from someone who wasn't invested in her "passing classes and being a great student." They study together in the living room, spreading out their papers for each other to see. From time to time, they ask each other a question, but he soon realises that while Aoi does need help with questions, what he needs is someone to keep him focused on his work; whenever his eyes or mind drift away, Aoi taps the paper with her pencil and says, "Focus."

He does.

And somehow, studying doesn't seem to take as long. It feels long for the first hour, but then an odd rhythm appears. He takes notes on each page, using all his fancy pens to organise key phrases and definitions. Aoi writes with the same blue ballpoint pen that he saw on her scrawled notes. They weave in and out of each other's studying session, and he only remembers he's studying  _ with  _ someone when Aoi tells him to pay attention, or when she pushes her book into his face and says, "Help me."

They study all through the night until they realise it's dark out and that they never turned on the light, and then, too tired to deal with anything else, Spectre drags himself to his feet and heads towards his bedroom. Aoi heads towards her room too, body drooping like a rag doll.

"Night night," he calls out.

"Goodnight," she says back.

He doesn't even register his head hitting the pillow. He falls right to sleep.

 

In the morning, there's no steam. Or smoke. Or whatever it was that was in the house. He can hear people outside, talking loudly and  _ goddamnit it's a  _ Sunday  _ everyone should be  _ asleep. But he does like the sound of people outside. It's the rumble of life—life he lives for, life he wants to hear every second of every day.

There's life outside of his bedroom door too. He can hear the rumble of some machine, and the gentle pitter-patter of feet on the floor.

_ No way,  _ he thinks.

Slowly, he slides out of bed and opens the door. He's always the first one up. Always. But through the slit in the doorway he sees Aoi puttering from the kitchen to the living room. She's mumbling something under her breath, but when she spots him, she nearly drops her papers in surprise.

"Why're you standing there?" she says.

Spectre rolls his eyes. "And a good morning to you too."

She disappears round the bend and into the kitchen. Spectre follows her—he can smell something good cooking. When he steps just a toe into the kitchen, he doesn't see food on the grill or counter. Instead, Aoi holds out a cup of tea for him.

He blinks.

"Good morning," she says, "and here. Drink up."

"Thanks." He takes a sip, and eyes her over the rim of the cup. Nothing seems wrong with her at first. There's still no smoke. But then ... did yesterday even happen? Does Aoi remember that? Should he ask her about that, or would that break the space-time continuum?

He takes another sip to clear his dry throat, and then asks, "So ... movie?"

"Sure," she says, bouncing her shoulders a bit. "Your pick."

He grins and settles back on the cosy couch that, not too long ago, they poured their lives studying over. He doesn't see the papers anywhere, but he supposes they might have cleaned them up last night. He truly can't remember. But as he settles down on the couch, he figures that, sooner or later, they'll start studying for the day.

They've got time to figure it all out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 09: win or lose  
> very, very loosely followed this prompt, but like the Alternate Fandom AU chapters, this is a two-part chapter of the forest study "date"

Not often, but sometimes, Aoi likes to get out of the house. Typically, her house is her safe space. Her bed and laptop are there; there's food, and she doesn't have to walk far to get it. Whether she's having a good or bad day, nothing seems like "too much" when she's in her house. But when the mood strikes her, she likes to wander out of the four walls and go exploring.

Peering over the top of her phone, she watches Spectre bustle around the kitchen making tea for the two of them. He's debating on what teas they should have: herbal or green. He got some herbal teas at half-price a couple days ago when they went shopping, and has since been drinking them every afternoon or evening, claiming that caffeine is bad for you. Aoi doesn't understand; caffeine is her best friend, day or night. But just before he drops the loose-leaf tea into the little silver strainers, she speaks up.

"Hey. Put those in travel mugs."

He peeks over his shoulder. "Huh?"

"Put the tea in travel mugs. We should go out and study today."

He looks at her like she's grown a second head. _"Out?"_

"Yeah, out." She rolls her eyes and slides off the couch. Still in her pyjamas, her t-shirt hangs around her thighs, and her loose pants swish from side to side. "Haven't you ever gone out and studied somewhere?"

He's still staring at her like she has two heads. "Yeah, but those students actually like to leave the house and go to a café—"

"Well we wouldn't go there," she cuts in. "No, we'll just go out to the forest or something. I even know of a good place to study."

"Really." He listens and replaces the cups with travel mugs. As he steeps the tea and cleans up the kitchen, he asks her, "Do you know how to get there then?"

She hadn't thought that far ahead. Her favourite quiet outdoor place is about a twenty minute drive away from the campus—a veritable green space with not a single pesky person in sight, and just the beautiful company of trees and shrubs. But there are no buses that head out that far, and neither of them have bikes.

"I'll ask my friend," she says. "She'll give us a ride."

"Friend?" he repeats.

"Yeah," Aoi says. "Or something like that." Technically her brother's girlfriend, Ema, but details are unimportant. "Do you even want to go?"

She expects him to say no, or to at least challenge the idea further, but he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Yeah, I can be ready in twenty minutes."

Her heart gives a little skip in her chest. "I'll give her a call right now." And before he can take back his words or ask her any more questions, she rushes into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. She dials Ema's number and presses the phone to her ear with her shoulder; as she listens to the dialing tone, she yanks out the clothes she wants to wear: jeans and a t-shirt, something that is comfy study wear but decent enough to be outside of the flat in. She's never cared much about her appearance, but something inside her tells her it's a good idea to dress up, maybe even brush her ruffled hair.

Ema picks up just as she's wriggling into her jeans.

"Aoi, what's up?"

Her throat turns dry. "Ah—ah, hey, Ema! How are you?"

Ema laughs. "Cat got your tongue? You sound like you're in a hurry."

Jamming the phone between her ear and shoulder once more, Aoi closes the button on her jeans. She's still in her pyjama shirt, but she'll deal with that later. She hops onto the bed and starts trying to yank her socks on without dropping the phone.

"Are you busy today?"

"Not really. Your brother is pulling overtime, but I have the day off."

Aoi can her the smile in her words. "Would you be able to drive me somewhere? Not far or anything, and I'll owe you one."

She expects Ema to offer an alternative, but instead Ema says, "Sure! We can catch up on the car ride, all right? You going to be ready by the time I get over there? I'm heading out the door now."

Aoi pulls on her second sock and grins. "Yeah, I'll be waiting for you in the usual spot."

"See you!"

"Bye."

As soon as the call ends, Aoi throws off her top and quickly dons one of her nicer blouses. She didn't even dress this fancily for her birthday dinner, but while that was out with her family, this trip ... It's different in a way that she can't put into words no matter how much she twists her lips together. She finds her new white sneakers tucked back in her closet, and she carries those out with her.

In the living room is Spectre. He looks ... different. He's dressed up fancier too, with jeans and a dress shirt, unbuttoned but with a simple t-shirt underneath. Judging by the slight glimmer in his hair, he's gelled pieces of it into place. Aoi runs her fingers through her own hair—should she gel it back too? That might help with the ruffliness.

She hears him swallow. "You ... you have your homework?"

Aoi motions to her backpack. She doesn't carry much with her: one notebook, one pen, and a couple workbooks to help her study for the upcoming quiz. Spectre's backpack is bursting with all his school supplies: pens and pencils and highlighters, at least three colour-coded notebooks for each of his classes, and then his own workbooks. No way would he be able to fit a single sheet of paper in there.

"We should pack some food," Aoi says. She heads to the kitchen and begins rifling through the cupboards. Neither of them shop too much, and Aoi prefers take-out; but Spectre has left around a handful of his healthy fruit and nut granola bars, and there are little containers of mixed nuts. She grabs two water bottles and fills them up.

"Are we staying there that long?" Spectre says.

"Long enough. You don't think you'll get hungry?"

"Not unless we're staying there all day."

She drops the food into her own backpack, and tosses a water bottle to Spectre. He fumbles and drops it to the ground. "Well, this is just in case," she says. Aoi hopes that since Ema is ditching them for several hours, they'll be forced to sit and study, or just wander around. It will make studying necessary instead of an option; at home, as diligent as she tries to be, she gets distracted. Spectre is even worse.

Once they have all their belongings packed, Aoi hikes her backpack straps up over her shoulders and toes on her new, white shoes. Spectre has new shoes too—the old, leathery kind that remind her of Akira's business shoes. They look uncomfortable to walk in, and certainly not the typical kind of hiking boots. But she keeps her mouth shut as she leads Spectre down the hallway and stairs, and out to the parking lot.

"Who's driving us again?" Spectre asks.

"A friend of mine," Aoi answers. She sees the sleek, black car parked along the curb, and she waves at the mirror. The window rolls down, and Ema pokes her head out, grinning ear to ear. It's been a few weeks since Aoi last saw Ema, and though she's talked to her, her heart skips a beat when she seems Ema smile and wave her on over. Even after all those weeks, Ema still looks and feels like the same person.

Spectre drags behind her.

Aoi puts their bags into the car, and then climbs into the back seat. When Spectre hangs awkwardly outside the door, she taps the window and says, "Get in."

He climbs in next to her. As charismatic as he once seemed to be, he looks cowed.

Ema plows on regardless.

"So Aoi, who's this?"

"Roommate," she says. "Spectre."

"I see, I see." She clicks her tongue together, and smiles up into the back mirror. "Aoi has told me so much about you."

Spectre's mouth drops open, and Aoi says, "Not much!"

"But tell me about yourself," Ema contines, regardless of whatever they shouted at her.

Spectre clears his throat, and answers, much more politely than Aoi could imagine, "I'm a biology major, mainly studying the healing properties of traditional medicine."

"Ooh, so plants then!"

"Essentially, yeah." He laughs, and leans back in his seat. He no longer looks as stiff as a wooden board, and he crosses his legs. "What are you studying?"

This time, Ema laughs. "Oh, I'm not in university anymore, kiddo. I'm Aoi's brother's girlfriend ... call me Ema for short, all right?"

She sees it: Spectre's eyes widen like the approaching moon, growing brighter and brighter. Aoi has never talked much about her family before, but there's not even that much to tell. Ema is like a family friend who is likely going to be officially part of the family. But Spectre keeps looking like a fish out of water and caught in the moon's rays, and he turns and stares at her.

"You have siblings?" Ema asks.

"No," Spectre says quickly. "Only child."

Ema clicks her tongue and drives along. Aoi watches from the window as the world passes all around her. She hasn't been far out from the country in a while, and the growing silence soothes her weary soul. If there's any place she would want to study, it would be a quiet nook in a corner of the forest, away from people and animals and noisy machines. No hikers, no campers, nothing. Just her and nature.

"Where are we going again?" Spectre asks as the road heads into the thicker forest. The heavy branches cut out the sunlight, and though it's midday, the car's headlights turn on so that they can see the path ahead of them. It weaves from side to side and around wide tree trunks and sprawling roots.

"Some place quiet," Aoi says. "I went here a while ago with my family."

"You having a picnic too?" Ema says. "Take him down to the river, Aoi. It's so lovely down there, and it's the only part of that woods that catches the sun's rays."

She didn't bring a swimsuit, but she supposes she could just dip her toes into the water and splash around. The water might still be getting warm in spring, but Aoi doesn't mind the chill.

The car pulls off on the side of the road—not in a parking lot, or even a place where it looks like a car can park. There's a small, wooden post jammed into the ground, and beyond it weaves a faint footpath through the trees and bushes. No doubt if Ema wasn't looking for the trail, she would have passed it.

Aoi slips out of the car and gathers her belongings. Her backpack feels heavier than when she was home, and when Ema hugs her, she feels like the trip went by too quickly. But then Ema whispers something in her ear: "You're blushing, cutie," and Aoi's entire face burns red.

Ema doesn't let her get a word out. "Ta-ta, you two! Have a fun day! Call me when you need a ride home!"

By the time Aoi gets her mouth working, Ema has long since driven off down the road. Aoi and Spectre stand with their heavy backpacks, water bottles hanging off the side. Neither of them wore proper hiking gear, and already Aoi ties her sweater round her hips. She turns on her heel and gazes down the path. Is the really the same path her, her brother, and Ema travelled down? It seemed so easy back then, though she supposes she was quite a bit younger, and at one point Akira carried her on his back. But she squares her shoulders and takes a single step forward.

Spectre takes a step too.

Then together they walk, single-file, down the path. For the first leg of the trip, neither of them see anything; they're both too captured by the beautiful sights around them. The trees are grander than any planted tree on the campus, and they seem to take over every section of the earth. Roots cut into the wavy footpath. Shrubs have sprouted all around them, the branches ticking their calves. Above their heads, the foliage is too thick to even see the blue sky, and yet somehow it's not too dark to see the roots they could trip on.

They hear birds, feel the crunch on the ground from heavy feet, but they see no animal or human anywhere in the dense wood. The forest feels alive, but they seem to be the only ones moving through it.

They break the silence when they see water: a little, bubbling brook that they have to cross by stepping on several planks of wood.

"Don't get wet feet," Aoi says as she crosses the stream.

Spectre laughs outright, and in the otherwise silent forest, he sounds like a booming forest king. "Oh please! You think a little water is going to stop me?"

Water splashes onto the back of Aoi's leg and she screeches. "Spectre!"

"But it appears water is your enemy!"

"You splashed me!"

He laughs and splashes her again. "Can't complain about getting your toes a lil wet."

Aoi stomps her shoes down in the water, and she soaks one of his pant legs. "Sure you can."

With wet feet, the two of them following the path dipping down into a crevice in the earth, or perhaps a deep cut from an ancient injury. Somehow the walls haven't caved in and killed someone, but from time to time bits of dry earth fall on their heads. Aoi brushes it off, and using her hand to shield her eyes, gazes up at the sky. There's blue in her vision now, but two half-arcs cross above her: the walls of the chasm, insufficiently making a roof. What seems to be holding the false roof up are thick tree roots.

"It won't fall over our heads," Spectre says. "Those trees are holding this earth in place, so unless some massive-scale earthquake happened, this path is going to stay here."

"What if there was an earthquake now?"

"Pessimistic much," he says, and adds, "But also unlikely."

Aoi believes in the impossible happening.

Out of the crevice, they eventually stop at a clearing just off from the main path. It's a grassy grove, with the softest, greenest grass she's ever seen. Spectre rushes ahead of her, kicking off his shoes and burying his toes in the ground. He grins up at the sky, wriggling his feet back and forth. Peeking over his shoulder, he says, "Come on, you too now."

Aoi points at her chest. "Me?"

"Shoes off," he says. "Trust me, it's worth it."

She toes off her runners and shoves her socks inside them. Then she steps into the grass. It feels like walking on wet clouds: the ground is dewy and damp, and the grass tickles her bare skin. Yet it feels ... refreshing. Like she's stepped into an oasis. Her eyes roll closed as she steps further, until someone—Spectre—holds her shoulder and says, "Hey, walk with your eyes open. You're going to fall."

She snaps her eyes open. She doesn't mean to, but her cheeks burn scarlet. "I'm fine."

Together, the two of them settle down on the grass, backs to a fallen tree. Its bark has been skinned away, leaving only the supple wood. There are scratches along it, and if she took a stick or rock, or even Spectre's sharp nails, to it, she'd be able to leave a mark.

"Does it hurt a tree to carve your name into it?"

"It's a fallen tree, so it's already dead." Spectre drags his hand over it, and then pulls out a pen from his bag. "Gently though. Use the ink. Actually, never mind." He grips it tightly and then with the precision of an artist he initials an S.

"What about my name?" Aoi asks.

"Oh yeah, you too." He writes her name down too, and then pockets the pen. "So. Studying?"

"Studying," she says. She takes out her notebook, pen, and paper, pulls her knees up so that she balance her notebook on it, and lies her workbook to the side. There's no ready-set-go; they just start to work. When they last studied together, they were a table-length apart, and while close, Aoi couldn't quite hear Spectre over the rush of her own thoughts. Today though, it's all she can think about: him sitting next to her, his breath in the hair, the ghost feeling on his shoulder bumping into her.

Out of the corner of her eye, he looks equally frazzled. No matter how relaxing this trip was meant to be, the peaceful solace of the forest can't quell the ... what? The what inside her. The feeling that bubbles and bursts and takes over her mind. It's not like she's _always_ thinking about Spectre, but he's been on her thoughts this morning more than anyone else. And maybe that's normal, and maybe tomorrow will be a new day and she'll be thinking obsessively over something or someone else.

But today is all about Spectre.

"You think we'll pass our classes?" she says, if only to get Spectre out of her mind. Concentrate. Focus. She needs to study.

"Why wouldn't we?" Spectre says. "You're a good student, Aoi. You'll do well."

Nope. She can't think anything else after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 09: soulmate au  
> technically not the 'au' part, but they're becoming soulmates! romance is blooming, but do either of them recognise it? ^^;;

She imagined studying to be with Spectre a long, peaceful trip out of the house. They might talk to each other occasionally, but they'd stick to their own tasks and not bother each other. However, ten minutes into studying, she already feels restless. She wriggles around in her seat, struggling to concentrate.

She gives up an hour into studying.

"Want to go for a walk?"

Spectre peers over the top of his book. "I thought we were supposed to be studying."

Aoi chews on her lip, and then mutters, "You really want to?"

"No ... but I thought you did."

"Well I don't."

Snapping his book closed, Spectre rises up and stretches his arms high into the sky. He reaches back down to hold a hand out for her. "Then come on, let's go walking."

Her cheeks pop cherry-red, and she ducks her head as she takes his hand and gets to her feet. They pack up their books and pencils and tuck them into their bags, and then head off down the same path they'd previously been walking on. Though they're not far from where they originally travelled, she feels like she's wound up in a completely different forest. The plants look brighter here, and the ceiling of leaves has been chipped away enough so that sunlight dribbles down onto the mossy ground.

Aoi doesn't remember walking this far when she headed out with her brother and Ema. She peers through the tree trunks for any sight of blue, and when she spots it, she breaks off from the main path and drops down onto an even smaller trail. It might not even be a trail.

Behind her, Spectre is lighter on his feet than a ghost. She hears only her crunching footsteps or the brush of leaves against her shoulders; Spectre weaves through the forest as if he's invisible. She only remembers he's walking two steps behind her when he speaks up.

"You know, if you didn't want to study and just wanted to come out here, you could have said so. I dislike studying as much as you do."

"No, I wanted to study," Aoi says. "I just wanted a break."

"Do you know where we're going then?"

"I ..." She glances up at one of the nearby trees. They're tall, with minimal foliage, but now that she looks closely, she sees that the branches of these trees begin at the bottom, not halfway up the trunk, and that they're close enough together that she could climb up them. She pulls herself up on the first branch, and then the second. The bark is smooth on her fingertips, as if hundreds of people have climbed the same path at her.

When she looks down, Spectre hasn't moved from his spot on the ground.

"You coming?" she asks.

"What are you doing?" he asks instead.

"Looking for the lake." She pulls herself up the next few branches. Surprisingly, despite her lack of physical activity since mandatory high school gym class, the climb feels thrilling rather than physically exerting. The breaths she take fill her crisp lungs, and when she blows out, she doesn't feel lightheaded or short of breath. She actually feels better up here than she did down there.

Spectre comes closer to the tree but stands at the base, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

"I'm coming back down," Aoi tells him, climbing higher and higher into the tree. "Wait for me if you're too scared."

He steps onto the first branch. 

Aoi shrugs her shoulders and continues to climb. Though the branches become shorter and thinner towards the top, they never snap beneath her feet. From time to time, she even bounces, heart in her throat. She only has to climb half-way up the tree before she can see through the thinning branches and spot the water to her left. If they follow the path, they should arrive at the lake.

Beneath her, Spectre has climbed two rungs up. He's even paler than before, and she can see him shaking like a tiny, white leaf.

"I'm climbing up," he says. "Wait for me."

_ But there's nothing up here,  _ she wants to say, but she holds her tongue. Maybe to her, there's nothing, but Spectre's a green thumb. He would probably love the view through the branches, or even the taste of the clean air up here. She has to swallow back a laugh that such an earthy spirit like him is terrified of heights, but then again they all have their fears.

One step at a time, he climbs up towards her. She sees him falter a bit, but with time, he makes it just a couple branches beneath her, breaths heavy and sweat slicking down his neck. He doesn't dare let go of the branch as he looks over his shoulder at the twisted branches around them. 

"Satisfied?" Aoi says.

Spectre nods his head.

"All right, then climb down."

He pales even further. "W-what?"

"You climbed up here, so now you have to climb down."

He doesn't move a muscle.

Sighing, Aoi slides down the trunk of the tree, catching her feet on the same branch as him. It gives a weak groan, drowned out by Spectre's small whimper. When the branch doesn't break beneath them, she says, "There's only one way down. Climb after me, and if you fall ..."

"What? You'll catch me?"

"I'll try." 

She climbs the rest of the way down, and leaps from the third-to-last rung to land safely on the ground. Overhead, Spectre takes his swell time climbing one rung at a time. At one point, he growls about how "He's hurrying," but Aoi just stands there with her arms crossed and lets him work it out. Just like with homework, he'll learn. And naturally, he does: he lands safely on the forest floor, just like her, albeit with sweat over his face and pine needles in his hands from how tightly he held onto the branches.

Aoi grabs their bags from where they left them on the ground and tosses one to him. "Why'd you climb if you hate heights?"

"I don't hate heights," he says.

"Why'd you still climb?"

"Because you did too."

She wants to point out just how silly that sounds, but she holds her tongue between her teeth. He followed her. For some reason, that sends the butterflies in her belly wild. If she was afraid of heights, would she have climbed with him. Probably. She would have followed him no matter what.

Turning on her heel, she leads the way down the path and to the water. From time to time, the path forks in two different direction, but Aoi remembers the general area of the lake, and she follows her gut all the way to the shore. One minute, she's stepping over fallen branches and big rocks, and the next minute her feet roll on small pebbles.

Ahead out her stretches a blue expanse so marvelous it takes her breath away. Trees line the lake with a small split where the sun's ray are directed right onto the water. No doubt the surface is warm and refreshing. As far as Aoi can see, they're the only ones here: no one is sunbathing on the grassy areas of the shore, or splashing in the water. Not even a fly has disturbed the lake.

It should look like the same lake she, her brother, and Ema visited, but with Spectre it's a whole new sight. She sees flowers peeping out of the ground. The light reflects off any luminescent surface, including Spectre's silvery hair.

She sucks in a breath, and then, in a voice barely a whispers, asks, "You want to swim?"

"Yes."

They kick off their shoes at the shore and dip their toes into the clean, clear water. Each step make little plumes of sand-dust that settle a second later. She can see everything beneath the water's surface: shells and rocks and little, shimmering fish that dart away as soon as the water ripples. She walks out until the water caresses her knees, and then glances back at Spectre.

He's rolled his pants up to his thighs and waddled out to be with her. When she smiles at him, he splashes her. Aoi splashes him back, and gets a mouthful of lake water in return. Laughter bubbles up in her throat. She kicks out at him, lifting her leg up higher like a gymnast—only she hasn't done gymnastics in years, and her balance gives too early and she topples into the water.

Spectre laughs outright. 

Mischievously, Aoi reaches out and grabs his hand. He has but a second to react before she yanks him down into the water with her. He lands with such a splash that water sprays into her face, but the sight of his drowned-rat looks is enough to have her pealing over in laughter. He just splashes her once more in the face and then settles back in the water with a huff.

"Your fault."

"I know." She dips her mouth down into the water and blows bubbles like she did as a child. He raises an eyebrow, but when Aoi thinks he's going to mumble out some snarky reply, he blows bubbles too. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees him suck in water. He tilts his head back and spits it out in a clean, fountain-like line. Then he smirks at her.

"I don't think I want that water in my mouth," Aoi says, swallowing back a laugh.

He blushes right to the roots of his ears, and swiftly turns his head away. Not a moment later, he's back to looking right at her.

"You came here before, didn't you?"

She nods her head.

"You looked like you knew the way."

"I came with my family."

"Like that woman?"

“And my brother. He works a lot."

He lifts his legs out of the water and scissor-kicks them. The resulting splash doesn't knock them in the face; instead, the sunlight catches through the flying water and turns it golden.

"Is that why you're so paranoid about grades? Because of your brother?" he asks.

Aoi swings around to face him. "No," says quickly. "Why would you say that?"

Spectre rolls his shoulders back. "Because you act like your life depends on your grades or something."

"My  _ school career  _ depends on my grades," she says. "If I don't pass my classes, I don't move on. It's as simple as that. What? You can just fail your classes and not have to worry about re-taking them?"

Her words cut into him. His eyes widen like an animal caught in the headlights, and the water around him ripples as he gives one violent shiver. Then he huffs and turns away, just like he does whenever he's embarrassed. 

"No."

Aoi tucks her knees up to her chest, and rests her chin on the tip of the surface. Her body bobs with the slight waves, and then settles easily in the water like a statue. Fish swim around her arms and legs, and she feels their fins tickle her as they brush by.

"If I don't pass my classes," she says, "my brother will have to pay for my schooling again. He always has—he's the one with a job, after all. But ... but even though I had to go to university, I guess ... I don't want to fail classes so he has to pay for them again. It's easy enough to get through high school, but I barely got accepted. And—and everyone goes to uni, and everyone passes. That's just how it is."

He snorts into the water.

Aoi splashes him.

"So you don't want to fail him after all he's done for you?"

"What about you?" Aoi asks. "Can you fail?"

"No." He says it so clearly and adamantly that she wonders at first if that was even him at all, or if it was the sound of a tree falling or thunder rippling through the air. But then he says it again—"No"—-and sounds like he's ripped the words out of his chest and throw them across the lake.

"Sorry." It sounds like the right thing to say. He sits so stiffly in the water, as if someone has a knife pressed into his back. She's never seen him so ... human before. He's seen her human—crying, pathetic, helpless—but he's always remained some elusive roommate.

Then, to fill the silence, he says, "But we'll pass."

"You really believe that?"

"No."

She lets out a short, stunted laugh. "Thanks."

"But I want to believe that."

"Now you're just being sappy." But even once the words have settled between them, Aoi rolls the thoughts around in her mind. If she were in her highest spirits and not coming off a depressive episode of lying around and binge-gaming, she'd say those words too, even if they sounded like the silliest words in the world.

Gently, she says, "Thanks for this, by the way."

She sees the way he jumps, eyebrows soaring into his dripping hair. "What are you thanking me for—"

"For helping me out. For cooking. For leaving me alone."

Spectre just blinks at her. "Did you hit your head or something?"

Growling, Aoi splashes him once more. Water topples over his head, but he keeps on grinning at her like a Cheshire Cat.

"You want me to say something sappy too? Like how I'm happy you're my roommate and I'm glad you're not annoying and that you seem really cool and mature?"

This time, Aoi blinks at him. "You ... mean that?"

He turns his head to the other side.

For a moment longer, Aoi replays those words in her mind. The echo in her heart. But rather than touch on them, she splashes him once more and then stands up. Her shirt and jeans are thoroughly soaked, and as she walks back, her pants chafe against her legs. She should have thought this through. Spectre waddles on behind her, stomping and clomping and nothing like the ethereal spirit he was acting like when he first waded into the water.

Then—

"Ack! Shit!"

He falls into her, knocking them both down into the water. Aoi has enough time to brace herself for the impact, but a bit of water still goes up her nose and down her throat, so when her head breaks the water, she coughs and coughs until the burning sensation clears. She whirls around ready to dunk Spectre back into the water, but then she sees his face twisted in pain.

Only ... he's laughing. On his side, leg pulled up towards him, laughing like he's being tickled.

Aoi shakes him lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, you ..." Her eyes narrow on where he's holding: one hand above his ankle and on hand gripping his big toe. Tears prick his eyes as he continues to laugh away.

"What happened?" Aoi says.

"It's—it's—"

Totally incoherent.

Carefully, Aoi reaches under one of his arms and hauls him up. He loses his foot with his other foot, and naturally tries to steady himself by dropping his injured one down. He howls in pain, another laugh bursting from his lips. She's never seen someone laugh at pain, but no doubt he's hurt his foot or ankle, maybe even his knee too.

"Don't put any weight on it," she says. "Just—just hold on, and we'll walk to shore."

He swallows back the next laugh.

"Now ..." Aoi adjusts her grip under his arms, and tucks him tightly next to her. "I'll step with you. Hobble. Don't put any weight on that leg, you hear me?"

"I'm ... fine," he tries to say, but his words fall on deaf ears.

"Enough of that," she says. "Just focus on walking."

One step at a time, they head back to the shore. He keeps trying to drop his foot down, only to hiss, and then laugh, at the pain. Aoi gives up on telling him to stop hurting himself; she feels like a broken record player. They make it to the shore, where she carefully lowers him down onto one of the patches of soft grass. He leans back on the green grass, and sucks in a breath through his lips.

Aoi hurries back to their bags and reaches into her pocket to find her cell phone ... only to come up empty. She chokes on the rising anxiety bubbling up her throat, and then smacks her hand down at her hip. Shit.  _ Shitshitshit, _ she left her phone in her pocket. It's waterproof, right? Her brother bought her that model because he thought she'd drop it in the bathtub or something.

She fishes it out and holds it between her damp fingers. Water droplets fall on the screen from her air, and she brushes it off with the least damp part of her shirt. Then she presses the power button.

Light.

"Oh thank gosh," she mutters. Once her phone boots up, she texts Ema as quickly as she can, just in case her phone dies on her. Then she shoves it back into her pocket and grabs both of the backpacks and hauls them over to where Spectre lies. In the time since she left him, he's grown even paler—not from blood loss, but the true expression of fear. Now that he's out of the water, she can see the injury more clearly: no blood, but bruising from his heel to his ankle. The entire area has steadily grown blue and black, and puffed up like a balloon.

"Ouch."

Spectre rolls his eyes at her. "It doesn't hurt."

"So you were laughing for no reason then?"

Even with his face so pale and wan, red blossoms on the apples of his cheeks.

"Come on, we're heading back."

She expects him to brush her off, or even say something like, "If you insist" to brush off the fact that he probably can't even stand, much less walk, without support. But instead he grunts and takes her hand, and Aoi feels the thank you through those gestures. She hauls him up and holds him steady. He slumps against her.

"Hey, I'm not carrying you," she says. "Here, grab that backpack. You can carry it with your hand."

He scoops down to pick it up, but drags it part of the way instead of properly lifting it. The two of them set off together. He doesn't whine or complain, or start giggling, but from his stiff arms and tightly-coiled chest, she can tell the pain has set in. The walk through the forest seems so much longer half-carrying him. When at last she sees Ema's car parked on the side of the road, relief washes over her.

Ema's cheery grin drops and once. She comes running over, grabbing Aoi's shoulder to steady her. "Hey, what happened?"

"Just a sprain, I think," Aoi says. Then she nudges Spectre, who's remained quiet for most of the trip. "Sprain, right?"

"Yeah, just a sprain."

"You sure?" Ema presses. "We can go to the hospital and have them take a look."

Spectre lets out one, short laugh, and then shakes his head.

"Your call," Ema says.

They help Spectre up into the car, and then Aoi slides in next to him. A part of her wants to tell Ema to drive to the hospital anyways; even a sprain is dangerous. But she holds her tongue and sinks back into the seat. She rolls her head against the headrest as the car starts up, and when it jolts to life, her head topples onto Spectre's shoulder.

Softly, she hears Spectre laugh. "Have fun?" he says.

Aoi rolls her eyes. "Yeah, sure. I had fun."

“Thanks.”

Cheeks warm, she snuggles in deeper.

"You're welcome."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 11: sweets  
> (Spectre's got a crush too ~~)

Spectre paces back and forth in the courtyard, wearing holes into the grass. He can't stop walking. Or thinking. He clenches and relaxes his hands over and over again until they creak with each release. The world is pressing down on his mind and he doesn't know how to tell it to fuck off and leave him alone. He's got enough on his plate, with midterms approaching and the general uneasiness of not being an over-achieving student so he actually has to pay attention to his marks or else he'll fail.

But something else weighs on his mind even more, like a boulder slowly yet surely crushing him towards the earth's molten core.

Aoi.

Aoi ... likes him. Maybe. But he's fairly sure of it because not once, not twice, but  _ thrice  _ this week they ate dinner together in the living room. He can't remember the last time she stayed in her room to play video games; she even brought her own games out to the living room and suggested they play together. Sure, she has alone time or studying time, but lately it feels like they're also doing something together, even just being around one another.

He should love it. He loves people, and attention, and Aoi is both a nice person and a great source of company when she's in the mood for it. Yet whenever he sees her, his stomach aches from the butterflies in it. He loses his train of thought when he talks to her, and sometimes he feels himself blushing even when he never said or did anything stupid. All these silly, inane reactions have driven him up the wall.

So here is he—pacing to and fro in the courtyard because he's not ready to return home where he'll only feel like he swallowed a jar full of hyperactive birds.

He's also waiting for Ryouken.

He checks his watch once more. Only two minutes since he last checked. A growl bubbles in his throat, and he swallows it down and stops his pacing. His toes twitch inside his shoes. How long could it possible take Ryouken to get out of class and meet him? He's standing right out from of the building, so there's no way he'd miss him.

Just as Spectre peeks over the top of his watch, he sees Ryouken heading down the hallway. He shoots up a hand to flag him down, and Ryouken heads out the doors and towards him. They fall in line together, heading ... somewhere. Who knows where? But Spectre walks, hands in his pockets, and Ryouken follows him. They head off the main courtyard and down one of the small trails to the quieter groves. Ryouken knows him well: he doesn't say a word during the trip over.

They stop at a concrete bench tucked into an alcove on the pathway. It's not private, but the bushes and trees encircling it give off the envision of privacy, and that's good enough for Spectre. He sinks down into the seat and catches his head in his hands.

Ryouken chuckles.

"What?" Spectre grumbles. "Spit it out."

"You look stressed."

"Thanks."

"It's not a look I've seen on you before," he continues, crossing his legs at the ankles. Spectre has never seen Ryouken come in anything less than nice, formal businesswear: slacks, a t-shirt, and a blazer. He doesn't quite look like some government official, but close. Almost. As usual, Spectre feels underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

"Are we going to the café?" Ryouken asks. "You are somewhat of a creature of habit."

Spectre growls lowly in his throat. He's really not in the mood for Ryouken's teasing. At all. He called him out because he wanted to take his mind off certain thoughts and feelings, but Ryouken keeps stirring them back. Damn it, this was supposed to be a good night out.

He stalks ahead and to the café. At this hour, it's loud and boisterous from students gathered together group-studying, or crowding over plates of dinner. Nowhere is a safe, silent place for a chat, but they make do in one of the booths.

As soon as they're seated, Ryouken smiles at him. "You sure you don't want anything to eat? Or drink?"

"Only if you pay," Spectre mutters, dropping his chin down on the table.

"Of course." A moment later, Ryouken slips back out of the booth. Spectre rolls his head from side to side across the table, and soon Ryouken returns with two mugs for them, and then heads back to grab a plate of French fries garnished with cheese and parsley.

Spectre curls his lip. "Greasy fries?"

"My favourite," Ryouken replies. "Yuusaku each such simple foods: plain hotdogs and noodles, French fries with no cheese or gravy or even ketchup. At least I know you'll eat this."

Spectre will. He's been eating out with Aoi quite a bit, often using her lavish savings to buy all manner of take-out dishes. He wonders if she knows just how broke he is; Ryouken does, and he has deep pockets too. But Spectre doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty taking food that has been offered for him, and he tucks into the meal and doesn't say a word. Ryouken lets him eat in silence for the first bit, and then he sets his fork down on the table and folds his hands neatly in front of him, like a businessman about to share his recent proposal.

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?"

"No." Spectre swallows another mouthful of fries, and stabs the next chunk with his fork. If he keeps shoveling food into his mouth, he won't have to answer any questions.

"But there is something on your mind?" Ryouken presses.

"Yeah, you," Spectre says. "And school."

"Classes?"

"Yeah."

Ryouken takes a deep sip of his drink and licks his lips. "Is it because you're not studying? That might have something to do with it."

"No, it doesn't," Spectre says, growling out the words. "And"—he pierces another fry—"for the record, I am studying. Lots."

The words take Ryouken by surprise. His eyebrows shoot up into his fluffy, white bangs, and he pops his lips out. Then his smile widens. "What a diligent student you are."

"Zip it," Spectre says. "I've been studying with Aoi. Lots. So trust me, I'm not failing my classes this semester. I'm  _ passing _ —72% and going strong."

Spectre knows Ryouken is an honour student, and that 72% is just a few points higher than the minimum grade required to receive the course credit. But his and Aoi's strong study habits have begun to pay off. He's not in the clear yet—not that he'll admit that to Ryouken—but he's in a better position to graduate than he was last month, and it's a weight off his back. He doesn't have to worry so much about retaking his classes or failing his biology program. He'll move on to second year.

For a moment longer, Ryouken remains silent, and Spectre feels like he's finally silenced him. But then Ryouken speaks up.

"So it's not school weighing on your mind then."

"Huh?"

"You just said," he continues, twirling his fork around, "that you aren't failing your classes, and congratulations to that. But then grades wouldn't be making you this anxious and uptight, now would they?" His smile widens. "Is it Aoi?"

"No."

"It is."

_ "No." _

Ryouken rolls his eyes. "Relax. I have fights with Yuusaku too, believe it or not."

"We didn't  _ fight,"  _ Spectre snaps. "Stop guessing. Everything is  _ fine,  _ thank you very much, and if you're going to feed me, I'd appreciate you didn't use it as a platform to  _ interrogate me.  _ Got it?"

His words bounce right off of Ryouken.

"If it's not a fight ... then is it love?"

"Not even close."

Ryouken smiles. "If you don't talk about what's on your mind, it's going to eat you up."

Spectre sighs noisily through his nose. He can't hold his fork steady, and he feels like he's giving so, so many signs that it  _ is  _ the case that he can't even defend himself. But he clenches his hands together and says, "No, it's nothing like that. At all. It's—it's a different thing."

The table creaks slightly as Ryouken leans closer. 

"A  _ little  _ thing," Spectre says. "A little thing so small and insignificant that it doesn't matter to anyone else but me and it's not affecting anyone else but me."

Ryouken nods his head up and down, as if he can understand such cryptic words. Spectre hardly even knows what he's saying. But somehow his words are getting through to Ryouken. Somehow he makes the slightest bit of sense.

"But it is a thing," Ryouken says, tapping a finger to his lips. His eyes grow cloudy as he loses himself in his thoughts, but just when Spectre thinks he needs to bonk him on the head to bring him back to reality, Ryouken says, "And it's a thing you care about."

"Ye ..." He swallows the growing pit in his throat. "Yes."

"Do you want this thing to become something?"

Spectre cheeks grow hotter and hotter, like two little suns on his pale face. "Something? Like something-something?"

Ryouken keeps on nodding. "Like a bigger something."

Then Spectre smacks his fist down on the table, not just upturning their plates and cups and sloshing tea and grease everywhere, but also making just enough racket to be louder than everyone else in the busy, chatty café. At least four different groups of people turn to face him. Spectre's face burns even brighter.

Across from him, Ryouken coughs into his fist to hide his terrible smirk.

"This is stupid," Spectre says. "No more code."

Shrugging his shoulders, Ryouken says, "Well then, should we just call it what it is: love?"

"N—" Spectre can't get the words out from between his lips. He wants to lie; he’s lied plenty of times, and once more would put no less shame on his already-tainted heart. But he can't lie about this. It seems too personal. Wrong. He doesn't even believe the lie, or feel it worthy to lie about. And Ryouken seems to know the truth too, so why ...

"Why even bother?" Spectre says instead. He takes a weak sip of the latte Ryouken brought him. It's long-since gone cold, even though it feels like they only sat down a few minutes ago. The caffeine doesn't even give him a pleasant, reassuring buzz. Instead, it feels sticky and bitter on his tongue. The food before him is no longer appetizing either, and what he's eaten sits low in his belly like a great, greasy stone.

"Why even bother with love when ..." He twists his lips together, then sighs. "I don't know."

To his surprise, Ryouken doesn't jump to his rescue. He doesn't fill in the blanks, or give him another question to tease his brain. Are his psychology electives not paying off? He picked them  _ because  _ he likes to pick at other people's brains, as well as study business economics. But instead, Ryouken leaves him in a choking, uncomfortable silence that Spectre desperately wants out of.

So he fills the silence himself.

"I don't care," he says. "This is a pain in my ass. She's acting different, I know she is. She wants to hang out all the time, and she's always in the living room. She buys me food. She invites me to play video games with her. She tells me about her classes and her family and her friends and—and I dunno, why can't she just lock herself up in her bedroom and only say 'good morning' and 'goodbye' to me? What the heck did I even do that she's now acting like this?"

Still Ryouken says nothing.

"What went wrong?" Spectre says. "What ... what happened?" His mind feels hot, like a computer that's processed too many tasks and fried its circuits. He takes another sip of his latte and it doesn't taste as bitter as before.

"You going to say something?" Spectre finally says to Ryouken. "You were pretty chatty before."

As slow as he can be, Ryouken takes another bite of food. Spectre drums his fingers on the table.

"We—"

"Didn't you want her to spend more time with her?"

Spectre blinks. "No—"

"I remember you saying before that your roommate never talked to you and always stayed in her room. And that you felt so uncomfortable never knowing who she was or what she did. And you kept finding ways to talk to her. Don't you think maybe she's warmed up to you now, and has maybe taken an interest in you too? Sounds like it to me."

"But why?"

"She probably realised you're not truly an asshole."

Huffing, Spectre crosses his arms over his chest. "Whatever."

"And if you act like this, she's going to think otherwise. If you don't like her, then just say so. No hard feelings. But ..." Ryouken leans forward, not enough, but Spectre feels pressed into a wall. "But if you do like her, don't dawdle around and pretend like you aren't. Confess. Maybe she thinks the same way."

"She doesn't."

"How do you know?"

He doesn't.

"Yes, sometimes people warm up to you and stay friends. But if she's going out of her way to hang out with you and be friends with you, and you're spending lots of time with her too—maybe it's something more. Maybe that's something that she wants. And maybe that's something  _ you  _ want. But you're not going to know if this is love or not if you avoid it and pretend it doesn't exist. Grow up, all right?"

"You grow up," Spectre mutters, but it sounds so half-hearted to him. He chugs the rest of his latte and slams the cup down on the table. "I'm heading back," he says. "Thanks."

"Talk to you later," Ryouken says.

He's glad that Ryouken doesn't press him to stay. He has a headache from the loud noise which throbs the more he thinks about their conversation. He wishes he could just open up his skull and drop the bad thoughts onto the ground so he'd never have to think about them again. Can't he just take them all away instead of letting them fester in his mind? But no, they're there, and they're painful.

He stomps off down the path and out towards the gardens. It's grown much darker, though with summertime approaching the days have gotten longer. The lampposts have turnt on, and they guide him down the path to the community gardens. He has his own plot here, blooming with zucchini and Chinese broccoli and other delicious vegetables. He even has a little pot of herbs. Soon, he and Aoi will be able to cook with these.

He squats down next to the plot and breathes in the scent. Someone is growing garlic a few plots over. Someone else has a pot of lavender. Whenever he goes here, he can smell the life around him. He settles back and lets his body relax. No one comes out here to garden. No one will come here to disturb him.

But as much as he enjoys being out here, he'd rather be at home on the lumpy couch, curled up under a blanket with a mug of hot, herbal tea. He'd rather play video games or read books, or even study. He loves his bright, cosy home, and he loves ...

He loves being with Aoi. Maybe that's love, maybe that's something more. Maybe that's the something Ryouken was talking about, or maybe that's something else. But he can't ignore that he wishes he were home instead of here, when just last month he actually liked being out of the house. His house feels like a safe place. A bright place. A chatty, cheery, friendly place that he wants to come home to.

He dips his head down, and mutters out, "Shit." Then, "Fuck." Then, "Fine."

He stands up and marches back to the dorm room. He doesn't even remember the walk over, only that one minute he's out in the warm, spring air, and the next minute his toes are touching the doorsill. Butterflies stir in his queasy stomach. The house is quiet, but he knows Aoi must be home, either studying or playing video games.

She's on the couch reading a book, legs tucked neatly to her side. She's draped his afghan around her body, and she tilts her head into the cushion and the fuzzy blanket. When he closes the door, she peeks over the top of the couch and gives a little wave through the blanket.

"Hey."

"Hey," Spectre says. He heads off to the kitchen to make tea; not that he's thirsty, but he needs something to do with his hands.

"Did you get your marks back?" Aoi calls out to him.

He swallows thickly. "No ... well, actually I haven't checked. Why? They send out an e-mail?"

"Yeah." Her voice dwindles off, and Spectre drops the tea bag and heads back into the kitchen. Screw making tea. She hasn't untangled herself from the blanket, but she holds her phone out and taps away at it. Then she raises the screen up for him to see. Sure enough, there's an e-mail on there from her professors: her mid-term marks are back.

"You too?" she asks.

"Haven't checked," he says with a forced laugh. His mind has been much, much too preoccupied with other thoughts.

"Oh." She shuffles her feet together, back and forth, and glances down at her phone. Spectre settles on the seat on the arm of the couch.

"How about we check them together?" she asks.

"Together?" he blurts out before he can wrestle the words back. Then he shakes his head and says, "Yeah, sure—lemme get my laptop and we'll check them together." He forces a smile. "Whoever has the lowest marks pays for dinner tomorrow?"

She laughs, a clear and happy note that makes the butterflies go wild. Quickly, he grabs his laptop off of his desk—he'd been studying by himself a few days ago—and settles down on the couch next to her. Aoi climbs closer to him, her phone held in her hand like some mystical artefact. They both log into the school's website together, and they navigate to the grades page. Then they hold their breath.

"Ready?" Aoi says. She looks eager. Far, far too eager for someone who used to panic at her grades. Spectre swallows. Did she gets other marks back? Does she know she's going to win? He knows he's had a 72% average for a while, and maybe he did well on one or two more quizzes, but he wasn't betting on getting a high mark ...

"Ready," he tells her.

_ Click. _

73%. But that mark barely even registers in his head before his eyes shoot over to Aoi's phone where she's zoomed in on her own mark.

73%.

A laugh bursts out of him. "The chances of that," he says, and he keeps on laughing. "Maybe—maybe one of us got 73.4%? Or something? Or they rounded our grades up or down?" But he can't see his screen because he's laughing so hard, head tilted back. Tears spring to his eyes, and he hastily wipes them away before Aoi sees. Sure enough, she's laugh-crying too. When she tries to suppress her own laughter, Spectate feels her shoulders bounce against him.

"Guess we have to split it," Aoi says at last. "But here." From underneath her afghan she pulls out a bag of small, plastic hard candies. He never even heard her crinkle the plastic bag under the blanket, nor did he feel it when she sat next to him. He plucks a wrapped candy from the package and twists it between his fingers.

"Congrats," Aoi tells him. "Now grab a few more, I can't eat this whole bag by myself."

He swallows back another laugh. Whatever feelings had plagued him before have been washed away—not entirely, and he's sure they'll return, but just for now, he can settle back on the couch and consider that, if anything, he's happy he loves his home and everything and everyone in it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 12: sickfic  
> i'm not even going to lie, this chapter is so long bc i'm weak for sickfics and i had to give this chapter 110% of my love

He doesn't notice it at first, but slowly he begins to feel more tired. And cranky. When he wakes up in the morning, he never feels fully rested, and getting out of bed is the greatest chore in his existence. Food never sounds appealing, and even coffee or lattes don't hit the spot. At first, he blames it on papers. He has several due as finals quickly approach, and he supposes that he isn't getting the best of sleep with so much on his mind. But then, even when he finishes a paper and has a night to himself, there's no sense of relief, only a weary exhaustion sinking into his bones.

Aoi must notice it too. She stops waking him up, and when he tells her that he's too tired to go out, she lets him sleep on the couch. Sometimes, she pushes him to get moving, but after the second day of him whining about tiredness, she must assume that he's not just faking it and complaining over nothing, and that something must truly be wrong.

On the fourth day, Spectre wakes up wrecked.

He rolls to the side of the bed and blearily opens his eyes. To his surprise, it's still pitch-black, so dark that the only light in the room comes from his computer's charging bar and a sliver of the moon peeking through the blinds. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a thick cough.

Oh shit.

He buries his face into the mattress and takes a breath in through his nose, only it feels like there's cork stuck up there, refusing to let any air in. His head is filled with cotton too, and his body feels stuffed and heavy. And hot. But when he tries to kick off the blankets, he only flails weakly on the mattress.

_ Shit,  _ he thinks. He doesn't feel stomach-sick, fortunately, but the general wooziness doesn't help matters any. He shoves his face into the mattress again as he coughs, muffling the sound as best as he can. He doesn't want to wake Aoi up, even though she sleeps like the dead. It must be some ungodly early hour of the morning too, so no one else will be awake. Not that he even wants to get out of the bed. It's hot and sticky and gross here, but ... but the single toe outside of the blankets feels like it's shoved in snow. Outside of the blankets is a winter wasteland.

He lays on the blankets for what feels like hours, too tired to stay fully awake, but too alert to fall back into an uneasy sleep. His bones groan whenever he shifts on the bed, and no position feels comfortable. When he feels his nose begin to run, he wipes it on a corner of the blanket and promises himself he'll wash it when he gets better.

He lays for as long as he can, until the light flicks on in the hallway and he hears Aoi pad out of her room. There's no clock in his bedroom, and he left his phone charging on his desk, too far for him to reach—but it must not be too early in the morning if Aoi is up. Plus ... He groans. Today is a weekday, and he has class before noon. He needs to get up.

As carefully as he can, he pushes himself up on shaking arms. The world spins around him, but he holds it together and places his feet down on the carpet. No motion sickness yet. Good. When he stands, he only stumbles a bit. Mostly it's his head and lungs that hurt; he feels like he's swallowed an entire bowl of jelly and it hasn't slipped down into his belly. Come to think of it, he's not hungry despite not eating dinner last night.

Slowly, he shuffles out of the bedroom and straight to the bathroom. He expects the obvious signs of illness: red eyes and nose, pale skin, sweaty face. What he doesn't expect to see are the deep bags under his eyes. He's slept so much—how can he still be tired? A cough bubbles up in his throat, and Spectre slaps a hand over his lips to muffle the sound. Aoi's going to hear him, he immediately thinks. She's going to know at once that he's sick, and—and it's not like she can tell him to stay home or anything. She's not his mom. But she'll act all concerned, and worst of all, he could spread it to her.

He swallows the gunk in his throat. Smushes his flat hair back, then brushes it forward when he realises pulled-back hair will only draw attention to his fever. If she asks why he's so hot, he'll tell her he slept with his face on his hot water bottle and under three blankets. But his voice ... his voice will be hard to mask. It sounds like he's eaten a bowlful of nails. There's not much he can do about it, so he shrugs his shoulders.

Aoi is in the kitchen, brewing the kettle for morning tea. She turns around when she sees him, holding two cups in her hands. "Morning. Want tea?"

"S-sure," he says, forcing to his voice to remain even. Instead, it sounds deep and gravelly, and he weakly clears his throat.

She turns around and adds the tea bags to the cups, then drizzles the hot water on top of them. She brings the cups over to the living room and settles down on the couch with her own. She looks as healthy as she can be, and happy too.

"Hey. You going to sit?"

He sits as far away as he can, and holds the tea in his hands. It's warm and comforting, like holding a little campfire in his palms, but the hot steam makes his nose run and he has to keep sniffling. With each passing second, he guesses Aoi must be catching on to something.

"You want to study after class today?" she asks, taking a sip from her own mug.

"Sure ..." he says, and takes a sip as well. He can hardly taste the tea, much less appreciate the hot liquid on his abused throat. It even  _ hurts  _ to drink, and he winces when the tea scalds first his tongue and then his throat.

Aoi raises an eyebrow. "Or if you're busy, we can always study tonight, or another day. You already have plans?"

"No, no ..." He takes another sip of tea to fight back the urge to cough; it helps, but barely. "It's ..." His body keeps failing him, one way or another. His head and throat seem to be fighting a battle of who can inflict more pain, and he can't keep on sniffling and trying not to cough. Plus, even if he does go to class, the last thing he wants to do is come home and study more. He doubts he even has the brainpower to leave the house.

Aoi sets her mug down on the table with a soft clink. She reaches a hand out towards him, and then, quietly, says, "You feeling all right? You look ... pale."

He's always pale, but he knows that's not what she's asking.

"Fine."

"Are you going to class like that?"

He starts to nod, and then pauses. He doesn't have to go to class and spread his germs everywhere. He can just stay home and relax, and write his paper if he feels better. That way, he can stay in his room and away from Aoi, and hopefully not share whatever illness he's contracted with her. Plus he can sleep to his heart's content and write his paper and not feel like he's ignoring every responsibility under the sun and moon.

"Maybe," he says. He lets out a single, short cough, raising his sleeve up. "Just a bit sick, don't worry."

"You sure?" Aoi says. "You look ..."

"Terrible?" He forces a smile on his face that pinches his sinuses and causes him to wince. "Yeah, I bet. I'll stay home."

She still chews on her bottom lip, eyebrows meshed together. One finger taps along the rim of her mug which she then brings to her lips to take a long sip from. "All right," she says at last. "Let me know if I can ... y'know, pick something up for you from the store. I have pain medication, I think."

"It's fine," Spectre says. In fact, he feels a bit better sitting upright and talking with her. "I'll be fine." He gets back to his feet, one hand braced on the back of the couch in case his legs give out underneath him. "I'll be in my room, all right?"

Her eyes widen. "Don't you want to be out here?"

"All good," he says as he heads back to his room. She'd pitch a fit if he told her that he didn't want to spread his germs, and she'd insist he stay out with her. He's much better locked up in his room until he gets better. Besides, even from just the short walk from the living room to his bedroom, he has to catch his breath. It would be best if he's closest to his bedroom and the bathroom.

When he gets to his room, he flops down on the bed and sinks into the sheets. His eyes burn, and his lungs heave with a creaky, gross cough that leaves a terrible taste in his mouth. Disgusting. He turns his head back into his pillow and closes his eyes. He felt so much better when he was sitting, but now that he's alone and there's no Aoi to tell him to get to work, he wants nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up again.

He does wake up. Eventually. And when he does, he feels like a hundred trucks have run over him, one after the other. He's not sure how he could possibly feel worse, but he does. His phone is still charging on his desk, too far for him to reach, but judging by how much sunlight is in the room, it must be midday or early evening. He's slept all day.

Weakly, he coughs into his fist, and swallows back the remaining sludge. He drags himself to the foot of the bed and reaches for his phone.

Oh.

It's 8 am.

He squints his eyes. The last time he remembers being awake, it was morning too. Did he not even sleep then? Or did he ... He squints once more at the bright screen. It's the following day. He slept the entire day away, too tired to get up and eat, or shower or use the toilet, or anything. No wonder he feels like such shit if he spent the entire day in bed.

Despite how horrible he feels, he drags himself outside of the room and plops down on the couch. Aoi's door is closed; she must still be sleeping. If she were awake, she'd make him tea and chat with him. Right now, he doesn't even think his throat is strong enough to swallow anything, and his voice must be too weak to work. He tries to whisper out a single word, but it catches in his lungs and he coughs and heaves into his lap.

He really is sick.

He stretches back on the couch and drops his head against the lumpy arm. There's no blanket to wrap around his shoulders, so he tucks his arms round his body and hugs himself. The air around him is so cold that he feels like Aoi has turned the air conditioning on in spring. But he supposes, if he thinks as clearly as he can, that he just has a raging fever. He could even fry an egg on his forehead.

He loses track of time lying on the couch; in fact, he loses track of everything until Aoi's hand rests against his cheek and startles him awake.

"Sorry, I was just ... Oh." She blinks at him, and rather than blush and startle away, her hand creeps along his jaw, past his ear, and up to his forehead. "Wow."

"Wh—" He coughs and turns away, curling into a tight, constricted ball. Each cough tears at his stomach, and he feels like he's heaving up his guts; only his stomach is empty, and he can't even remember the last time he ate something. Two days ago, maybe? Or did he even eat dinner that night, or just pick at a bag of vegetable chips?

"Hey, hey." Aoi holds onto his head to stop him from moving, and slowly brings her hand back down to his cheek. For someone who used to never sit in the same  _ room  _ as him, she's gotten surprisingly touchy-feely recently. Not that Spectre minds, especially not now. Her cold touch soothes his burning skin. He rubs his cheek into her hand, and coughs lightly.

"Spectre." She pinches his cheek, just enough to get him to open his eyes. "We're going to the doctor, all right? I ... I think you're really sick."

_ No duh,  _ he wants to tell her. He wonders if she came in yesterday to check on him, or if she left him to his own devices. Probably the latter. He's an adult, but right now he feels like a droopy infant.

She pushes at his head, and with a groan he lifts himself up to a seating position. Every part of his body aches. He feels like he can't breathe, though he hasn't passed out yet so supposedly he's breathing from  _ somewhere.  _ Every moment seems to incite the choking coughs that spill from his lips. He doesn't even want to  _ imagine  _ where there's mucus. Yet Aoi keeps one hand on him at all times, as she lifts him off the couch and guides him to the doorway. She pushes on his shoulders to get him to sit, and she slips his shoes on him just like one would with a toddler.

His cheeks burn with shame. Fortunately, she shouldn't be able to see it under his fever.

Once she has her own shoes and coat on, she guides him out into the hallway and down the stairs. It's early enough in the day that some students are still sleeping, but when they get out on the campus, the noise of every voice and car rings in Spectre's ears. The sun stabs into his eyes; his skin prickles, hot and sticky. It hurts to move.

"All good," Aoi keeps on telling him him. "It's all good."

He vaguely remembers the trip down to the school's clinic. One minute, he's walking in the itchy sunlight, and the next minute he's dropped down into a plastic waiting chair. Aoi comes back with a pen and clipboard, and she asks him questions about his name and birthday, his student number, and existing medical conditions. Spectre nods his head through most of them, and whispers when he does have to say an answer.

Then they wait.

The chair hurts, he soon realises. It digs into his back. If he places his arms on the armrests, he feels like he's giving himself bruises. When he coughs, every student in the waiting room stares at him. Aoi sticks a mask over his nose and mouth to help.

"You'll be fine," she says, but her voice wobbles towards the end. Despite how shitty he feels, Spectre doubts it's anything more than a common cold, or at worst the flu. He doesn't have a terminal disease; there's no reason to panic. But in the time it takes for them to see a doctor, Aoi chews her nails down to the skin.

When they do get a room, it's with great relief. He stumbles to his feet and lets Aoi guide him first into the room, and then onto the bed. He flops down against the papery cover. Aoi flicks the lights off, and then comes to sit in the small, plastic chair next to him. Everything in the room is plastic too; and when it isn't, it's metal. There's a single tablet laying on the desk, and a pad of paper and some pens. The cupboards are all closed, but Spectre supposes there are plenty of medical tools inside.

It feels like another hour later that they're seen by a young medical student, supervised by a practicing doctor. The old man reminds Spectre of Ryouken's uptight father, but the med student, Ms. Taki, smiles at him while she checks his eyes, ears, and throat, and takes his temperature. She asks him how long he's been sick for and what he feels like—the typical questions to which he gives the typical answers.

"Probably the flu," she says at last. "Have you been eating or drinking?"

He shakes his head.

"Make sure you do. And rest. This will pass, but you need to take care of yourself. Fever reducers, cold medicine. Do what you need to do to stay healthy and comfortable. And ..." She pulls out a pen. "Medication. You've got a sinus infection."

He doesn't see what she's written, but Ms. Taki gives it to Aoi, who says she can go fill the prescription with him.

The entire visit takes, at most, fifteen minutes, and when she leaves the room, Spectre forgets all of it. He slumps back against the wall, eyes rolling closed.

"Hey, hey," Aoi says. She takes his hand and pulls him forward. "Let's go get the medicine and then head home."

He doesn't remember that trip either.

When Spectre next properly opens his eyes and feels like he's not walking in some dreamlike trance, he's back at home under two blankets, with a pillow tucked behind his head. There's a glass of water sitting on the table. But he's only awake because Aoi has gently pinched one of his cheeks. She balances on the edge of the couch. In her hand is a single tablet that she holds at eye-level for him to see.

"Hey," she says, and smiles weakly. "Time to take your first dose."

He shakes his head, and even though he only moves an inch or two, it triggers a painful coughing fit that has him scratching at his chest, trying to tear his lungs out of his body. Why oh why does he feel like such shit?

"Come on, take the meds and then we'll watch a movie or something."

If he had the energy, or the voice, he'd tell her there are some vitamins in his cupboard that he takes every morning. Maybe he's become so ill because he's stopped taking them. Unlikely, but possible. But deep down even he knows a couple chalky tablets won't heal whatever terrible illness has settled in his head and lungs. He pulls his hand out from the blankets and pops the pill into his mouth. Aoi passes him a glass of water to wash it down.

"There," she says. She strokes her fingers through his hair, twisting the greasy strands together. Were he not so weak, he'd consider taking a warm bath. But even the thought of getting to the bathroom makes him weak at the knees. He can't even see straight.

She takes the water glass from his hands, and then settles back on the couch with him. He hears her turn on the TV, but before he even sees the show she's chosen, he falls back into an uneasy sleep.

For the first day, he only remembers waking up for medicine. Occasionally, he remembers feeling Aoi wipe off his face and neck with a cool towel, or press her hand over his forehead to feel how hot he's become. But he only gets off the couch to go to the bathroom, and he hardly remembers those trips. He stays awake to drink the water that she gives him, and swallows the pills, and slurp the soup she heats up. 

On the second day, he doesn't feel better per se, but he feels awake. The first thing he sees is Aoi, passed out on the other side of the couch. Their legs are snaked together somewhere in the middle; and though she has her own blanket, she's wrapped up in part of his too. He wonders how long she's been sleeping on the couch with him, or even how long he's been sick for. The fever had riddled his brain.

He lies awake, as silent as a moth with a cough that sounds like it comes from his toes. He wakes her up the second time.

Stretching her arms over her head, she rises with the grace of an angel awoken from a slumber. "Hm ... oh hey, you're awake." At once, she scoots up on the couch, untangling their limbs. A slight blush appears on her cheeks; she's pink all over from being toasty warm under the covers. "How're you feeling?"

"Grea—" He breaks off coughing, then sneezing.

Aoi chuckles into her fist. "Wonderful," she says. "Take a drink of water. I'll go get your meds."

He chugs back the water while she busies herself in the kitchen. She returns with the pill in one hand, and a bowl of oatmeal in the other. Spectre raises an eyebrow. Did she boil water ...

"I used tap water, all right? It's quicker. But here ..." She sets both down on the coffee table next to him. "You need to get your energy back."

"Thanks." The single word creaks in his throat, and he swallows the medicine with his next sip of water. Food still doesn't sound appealing, but he supposes it's been a few days since he's eaten anything heart—the soup from yesterday hardly counts—and he could use the energy. But the spoon in his hand feels too heavy, and the oatmeal on his tongue tastes bitter and slimy. His shoulders draw up to his ears and he gives a violent shiver.

"Tastes gross?" Aoi says. "It shouldn't taste too good ... or bad. It's what my brother used to give me when I was sick."

"Hm?" He takes another bite—not as terrible this time, but still bland. He tastes sludge in his throat, and no amount of water will be able to clear that away.

"Yeah, when I was sick, he used to take time off work and stay home with me. Really, that was the only time he would take off for work. I even used to fake being sick just so he'd spend the whole day watching movies with me." Her cheeks darken, and quickly she adds, "When I was really little, I mean. Not anymore."

Does that mean she's been caring for him just like her brother used to care for her? If his throat didn't hurt so badly, he'd ask her right away.

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?

He doesn't even remember the movie, or falling asleep on her shoulder. When he wakes up, drool and snot sticking to his face, it doesn't even faze him. The lights are all off, and the moonlight shines through the kitchen window. At first, he thinks he's tucked up against the arm of the couch. But then the couch  _ moves,  _ and he realises he's pressed up against Aoi, who's fallen asleep next to him. She's curled up under the blankets, and her warm body rises and falls with her gentle breaths.

His face burns, whether from the fever or something else. But then he shivers and snuggles closer. He'll worry about this another time. For now, he wants nothing more than to curl up next to her and sleep the next day away.

Already, he's feeling a bit better.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 13: first date (guess what's happening finally ~~)

Now that she doesn't feel like the world is caving in on her, and that maybe she can take a deep breath and have it not catch in her lungs, Aoi begins to think about what Ema told her. "Make the most of university" sounds like quite the haughty endeavour, and a bit vague too. But she's been trying to have fun and spend time with Spectre, and the more she hangs out with him, the happier she feels.

Settled down on the couch, she flicks through her Instagram feed. She lurks online, not posting or commenting, but just seeing what the world around her is up to. It appears her friends are all at the pool or beach: plenty of her classmates have photos of the new swimsuits they bought, and the beach parties they hosted. Warm sand, bright umbrellas, watermelon and cola—it sounds like the parties she only sees on television. Apparently it's now an Instagram trend.

She sucks on her lip with her teeth. She has a swimsuit, and Spectre has an umbrella that he leaves by the door. They could pack a picnic lunch too ...

Peeking over the sofa, she catches Spectre in the kitchen, brewing tea for the both of them. They've been studying all morning, and just now taken a break to stretch their backs and get something to eat.

"Hey ..." she begins, teasing the words around in her mouth. "Do you want to go to the beach?"

"Today?" Spectre asks.

She swallows. She was thinking tomorrow, or the next day after. But traitorously, she blurts out, "Sure."

Spectre glances over his shoulder. His nose crinkles up like he's deep in thought, and he looks ready to backtrack on his words and say they should hang out another day. But then he turns back to the tea he's making and says, "Should we pack a lunch?"

"Yeah, sure." She slips off the couch and heads into the kitchen. From her Instagram feed, all her friends were making colorful sandwiches cut into cute shapes, and arranging small containers of assorted fruits. In Aoi's fridge, there is mayo, lettuce, and leftover chicken. No fruit. No ingredients with which to prepare any side dishes. She doesn't even have any canned food either.

"Sandwiches all right?" she asks. It's all she can make.

"That's fine," Spectre says.

She sets about making food while he putters around packing all the last-minute essentials they might need for the trip. Whenever she catches his eyes, his face turns as pink as a peach. But he keeps on looking at her, and Aoi wonders what he's getting so flustered and embarrassed about. It's just a day off together—that happens plenty of times. Yet even she can't tease away the ache in her belly as she changes into her swimsuit and slips her clothes on over top. Spectre leans against the door, arms folded across his chest. She's never seen him wear such bright clothing before: khaki shorts and a loose button-up shirt over top of his tank top.

He looks ready for the beach, whereas she's still in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Are you going to burn?" she asks with a laugh.

He tosses a plastic bottle from one hand to the next. "Sunscreen. And is your friend picking us up?"

"It's only a short walk," Aoi says. She scoops up her own bags, and then motions for Spectre to do the same. "We've gone hiking before, so this will be fine."

Spectre grumbles to himself, but he picks up the bag and leads the way out of the apartment. They trail first down the hallway, and then out the door. With exam season on the horizon, many students are clustered together and studying; the common study area in the lobby is even jam-packed with students huddled round their laptops. She hasn't felt a weight in her heart in weeks, not since they started studying together and her grades slightly improved.

They follow a path out of the campus and onto one of the main roads running parallel to the school. In a car, this is the road Ema would take to pick her up and drop her off. But walking down it gives her time to appreciate the planted trees down the greenstrip. On her other side is a towering hedge that blocks the view of the off-campus parking lots. It's a much better view to see the greenery, Aoi thinks.

Her face pulls down into a frown when she hears Spectre's feet behind her. Rather than walk in line with her, he trudges along one or two paces behind her. She peeks over her shoulder to see if he's struggling with carrying his lone backpack, but that doesn't seem to be slowing him down. No, he's just plain slow.

She slows her walking pace so that she can walk with him. They're in no hurry to get to the beach. But just as she catches sight of him in the corner of her eye, he disappears.

Aoi growls low in her throat. "I know we're not in any hurry," she says, "but maybe we could walk a bit faster?"

"I am walking."

"Faster," Aoi says. She stops and waits for him to catch up, and this time, Spectre doesn't stop. He pushes on, head bowed, but as he passes her, Aoi starts walking once more. She tries to keep in line with him, adjusting her pace each time he slows down or speeds up. It almost feels like he's playing a game with her, and one that Aoi wishes he would just stop and walk normally.

"So ..." Aoi clasps her hands behind her back, bouncing her knapsack up and down. "What do you want to do at the beach?"

"It was your idea," Spectre points out.

"Yeah, I know, but I want your opinion." Just ahead of them stretches a thread-thin line of blue sea, and her heartbeat quickens. "What do you like to do at the beach? Swim? Build sandcastles? Go exploring along the shore and look for crabs?"

"Don't know."

Aoi huffs loudly. It's unlike him to not want to impose his own ideas at every second. Normally, he's the one telling  _ her  _ the agenda for the day, and her following along. And even when it is a mutual interest, Spectre often has ideas. He loves being outside, even when the sun tries to crispy-fry him. But Spectre seems anything but interested now, staring at the ground as if looking for loose change.

"Well," Aoi says, "I like swimming. You can swim ... right?"

"Right," Spectre says, not tearing his eyes away from the ground.

The road slowly changes from a busy campus boulevard into a quieter road leading down to the water. With each step they take, the ocean becomes clearer over the horizon. Yellow-white sand dusts the corners of the sea and stretches out to consume the grass. The road stops sooner than she imagined, cutting short like someone chopped off the rest of the path. They travel down a dusty footpath towards the beach, past tall grass peeking through the sand that disappears the closer they get to the water.

Aoi tilts her head back and breathes in the fresh, salty air. She remembers coming to the beach with her brother and Ema, but it's been too long since she's seen the water. She greets the sea like an old friend, throwing up her hand just as a breeze blows by. Air tickles through her spread fingers.

At the end of the footpath is the beach stretching farther than she can see—an endless expanse of white sand and blue water. People have picked spots all down the coastline, though many are clustered closest to the footpath.

"Where do you want to go?" Aoi asks.

Spectre shrugs. Already, he looks pink and warm, and they haven't even been at the beach for five whole minutes.

"How about ..." Aoi taps her chin with a finger, and then points down the coast where, far back, she sees open sand. "There? See where no one else is?"

He follows along after her. Aoi feels like she's dragging a pool noodle behind her. A seed of worry grows within her that maybe Spectre is afraid of water, or worried about getting a sunburn. He's never become so quiet before, not even when he hurt his ankle when they went hiking.

They make it to their spot far away from everyone else. Aoi tucks the bags against the driftwood that has washes far up on the shore, and spreads out a blanket for them to sit upon. Spectre brought one of his large umbrellas with him, and he pops it open and jabs the end into the sand. Soon their little spot looks like a scene from a children's picture book. If only they had watermelon and some glass bottles of soda, they could be filming for a beach episode of a reality TV show.

"Swimming first then?" Aoi says. She doesn't wait for his reply as she lifts her top up. 

Spectre lets out a single shriek.

Aoi drops her top down, eyes wide in surprise. "Did something sting you?" she asks.

"No," he says quickly. His face is red now.

Aoi narrows her eyes. What, did a crab bite him and he's being too manly to say otherwise? But she shrugs it off and takes off her top and bottoms. She only has one swimsuit—her school swimsuit—and fortunately it still fits her. She tugs on the straps and peers over at Spectre who has yet to even take off his flip flops.

"What?" she says.

"That's your ... school swimsuit?"

"So?"

His face turns even redder; Aoi has never seen such a bright colour on him before.

"Nothing," he says, and yanks off his own top. He's wearing his swim shorts, Aoi realises, but topless, she sees milky pale skin. Her first thought jumps to her lips.

"Do you have sunscreen on? You're going to burn."

"I do—" He yips his words back before he can spit them out, and then glances towards his bag. "On my arms."

She holds her hand out for the bottle, wriggling her fingers back and forth. Spectre passes it to her with no shortness of embarrassment. How it's embarrassing, she doesn't know. Everyone's forgetful sometimes. She squirts the liquid onto her hands and rubs it across her palms. But when she moves to press her hands onto his back, she pauses. Stops. Feels her own face heat up like there's a city-wide heatwave going on.

"What?" Spectre says.

"Nothing," she says, and splats her hands down on his skin. Whatever Spectre is acting weird about, it's now rubbing off on her. Maybe he's sick and he didn't want to tell her about it. Maybe he and Ryouken had a fight last night. Maybe there's something on his mind. But she feels like, if she addresses it, he'll only become more standoffish and this trip will be an utter failure. If she ignores it, perhaps they can have a painless trip.

She wipes the excess sunscreen onto her arms, and then spins Spectre around by his shoulder. "Here, you do me too," she says.

"Do—"

"Here." Aoi pushes the bottle into his hands, and then spins on her heel to let him put some on her back. Her muscles constrict when his fingers touch her skin, and she sucks in a chilly breath. It should be no different than her brother or Ema putting sunscreen on her, but for some reason ... it does. His hands on her skin feel different in a way she can't put her finger on, and the more she thinks about it, the more the feeling increases. She feels neither sick nor upset nor anxious, but the strangest combination of them all.

Fortunately, Spectre finishes quickly, and once he's packed away all their belongings, the two of them pad across the warm, white sand and into the water. She shivers when her toes first dip into the water, and a sharp gasp escapes her lips.

"Cold!"

"It's the ocean," Spectre says. "Did you expect a hot tub?"

She shoves her whole foot into the ocean and kicks water at Spectre. He shrieks as soon as it touches him, but instead of jumping back, he retaliates by splashing her with his hands. Cold water soaks through her swimsuit and right onto her skin. Goosebumps appear on her arms.

With a cheer, Aoi dashes forward and jumps into the water. Her head goes under, and the initial feeling of icy water on her chest shocks her lungs. But she quickly adjusts to the temperature change and floats under the water, only coming up when she needs a breath. Spectre stands at the edge of the shore, toes planted in the sand.

"You—"

"Come on," Aoi says. "Unless you can't swim."

"I can," Spectre says with a huff. He steps back and forth, looking ready to flight or flee—and then, out of the blue, he leaps into the water and crashes down on the surface. Water splashes out on either side of him. Aoi spots him sink down momentarily, but instead of coming back up at once, he shoots forward like a sea creature, propelling himself with his arms and legs. Aoi doesn't have a chance to escape before he grabs her ankle—her safety line to the ground—and knocks her down into the water too.

Her head goes under.

She blinks her eyes once or twice to adjust to the water, and then snaps them closed when the salt hurts her irises. Spectre must not be far from her; she can hear him splashing around after her. Carefully, she opens her eyes once more to see where he is, and then shoots forward to grab his arm. She catches him, but instead of pulling him down, he lifts her right out of the water like a caught fish.

Above the surface, Spectre grins ear to ear at her.

"Caught you," he says.

She splashes him in the face, and he lets out a gurgled laugh.

"Cheater.”

Behind them, the shore is a fair swim away. They both tread their feet to stay afloat, and holds their arms before them to churn the water. Aoi remembers learning how to swim when she took classes at the pool with her brother, and judging by the way Spectre is mimicking her, she imagines her learnt to swim the same way too.

She shakes her head back and forth, spraying water everywhere. When she licks her lips, she tastes salty water. Back on the shore, even away from others, it was noisier with people lying around or chatting over drinks and snacks. Out in the water, the noise is absorbed. It's peaceful and silent out here, just the two of them.

"Let's swim."

Aoi blinks. "Huh?"

"Come on, let's swim."

Spectre kicks off ahead of her and begins paddling off to the side, following the coastline as it curves and bends. Aoi catches up with him and swims next to him. They never try to head out in the middle of the ocean, but instead take a path that heads out to where a hill stretches over the water. Beneath it is dark, wet rock, glowing in the warm sunshine. She hadn't seen it from their spot on the sandy beach, but out in the water, it's as clear as a mountain on flat land.

When it comes time to climb it, she has to pull herself up onto the rocks; her bare feet slip on the smooth rock, washed away of all grooves and barnacles. Further down, she sees barnacles and starfish clinging to the dark underbelly of the rocks. Spectre climbs up after her.

"Are we pausing to catch our breath already?" Aoi asks.

"Keep climbing," Spectre says. "Let's make it up to the top.”

One at a time, they slowly climb along the rocks speared in the water. Her hands cramp from how tightly she holds onto each ledge and outcropping; if she slips and falls, it'll become a much more dire situation than when Spectre twisted his ankle hiking. But since the rocks cluster together, they create a short, albeit easily traveresible, path around them and to where they jump back into the water.

"We could have swam round it," Aoi says with a laugh. "But I guess we needed the challenge."

Spectre splashes her in the face and laughs too. "You needed the challenge? You made it look easy."

The compliment feels like an electric current through her heart, and she chokes on her next breath and splutters. She brushes off Spectre's panicked, "Did you choke on seawater?" and catches her breath. Then she laughs aloud, tossing her head back and into the water. She floats on her back, face up to the warm sun.

Spectre flops down with her and paddles around her.

Like waves, the silence ebbs forward. She hears the pitter-patter of his hands and feet in the water, and the slight gust of breath. She dips her head to the side to blow bubbles, and bounces her legs up and down as if she's become a mermaid. Her eyes close to the lull of the ocean and her body drifts through the water. She can't hear anyone but Spectre. She can't feel anything but the soft waves he makes with his hands and feet.

Her shoulder bumps into him, and this time, neither of them flinch.

Rolling her head to the side, she sees that he too has closed his eyes and let himself be guided by the ocean's natural current. He rests shoulder-to-shoulder with her, his head nestled against her own. They almost fit together like weirdly shaped puzzle pieces.

"Feels nice, huh?" Aoi says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah."

"Better than you expected?" she teases.

Spectre snorts, but his eyes remain closed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You were acting all weird this morning, and even when we got to the beach too. I thought you didn't want to go or something."

"Oh." His voice pitches up, and Aoi feels his shoulders tense together. Did she touch a nerve?

"That's nothing," Spectre says. But then, before she can say, "OK," and move on, he speaks up: "Nothing much."

"Much?"

"Yeah ..."

"But it was something?" she rolls towards him, the corner of her lips pressed into the water. The sun glistens over the top of her head, warm and caressing on her cheek. "What was up?"

Spectre keeps his eyes closed. "Was today a date ... or something?"

"A da—" Aoi snaps her mouth closed. A date? Like—like a couples' date? She—she hadn't thought of it as any more special than any other day they've hung out, at least not until he started acting all strangely. Today was supposed to be like a typical hang out day. But ... but it never felt like it, not even from the start.

"Was it?" Spectre asks.

"I ..."

"Because if it was ..." Spectre dips his chin down and blows bubbles into the water around his neck. "It was really nice, Aoi."

Butterflies erupt in her stomach. It takes all her willpower not to writhe in the water at the sound of her own name—no, her name on  _ his  _ lips. And he says it so casually too, whereas Aoi feels like a lovestruck schoolgirl who just confessed to her crush and—

Wait.

He confessed ... to her?

In all her panic, she hadn't realised he'd opened his eyes. But now Aoi feels her entire face turn pink at the sight of his blue eyes. He's blushing too, but it looks better. She probably looks like she's having an allergic reaction. All of his previous awkwardness from this morning has faded away.

Then he swallows so loudly it sounds like it came from the bottom of the sea.

"What?"

"What—" Aoi snaps her lips closed, and then glances down at her hands toying with the ocean water. "No, no, it's not you, it's—it's nice, thanks." She huffs out a breath catching in her lungs. Spectre looks frantic now, eyes wide, and the breath she just let out has returned and clung itself deep into her chest.

"Can this be a date?" Aoi asks.

Spectre snorts. "Why are you asking something like that?"

"Because I don't know what else to ask."

"Do we have to ask each other out to ... to y'know?"

He shrugs his shoulders, and somehow, it draws him a bit closer. "Who knows."

The water between them feels warmer. It still ripples from them trying not to drown, and Aoi wonders if she's developing hypothermia or not, for she feels frozen and numb all over. But she doesn't want to pull away from the small, warm space between them. Whatever feeling she's feeling, she likes it. Wants it.

She tucks her chin down into her chest. Whether from the sea of from her own movements, she moves forward to float next to Spectre. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

"Thank you," Aoi says, pressing her head against his chest.

"For what?"

"For whatever this is."

He doesn't answer. As gentle as a bee landing on a flower, Spectre presses his nose down into her wet hair.

"Sure. You're welcome."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 14: time travel  
> technically, more like a "past history" fic, and dare i say this is my favourite chapter? even though it's not really blueghost but more platonic respectful. yeah, there's something special i like about this chapter, maybe the "rawness" of Spectre's POV

Spectre toes his shoe into the pavement, twisting it round and round to get all the dirt out of a single crack. There's nothing better to look at than the ground; it's a painfully-bright morning in the congested city streets of Den City. The rumble of car engines and the chatter of people on the roads feels like nails piercing his brain. Everything is too loud and bright, and though he's a morning person, this is not the sort of morning he would want to wake up to.

He likes coffee shop mornings. Quiet park mornings. Places where they are people talking, but no noisy engines and rumbling train tracks.

He lifts his head and squints his eyes at the approaching mass of people. It's easy to spot Ryouken from among the crowd: he's taller than everyone and his white hair sticks out like a diamond in a pit of mud. Were he not wearing his school uniform, no one would know he was a high school student: he exudes a natural air of maturity and superiority that always makes Spectre feel self-conscious about his twig arms and big eyes. He still looks like a dorky middle schooler.

"Did you study for the test?" Ryouken asks as they take off together down the path. Despite how crowded it is, they manage to walk side by side, brushing close to one another when the road narrows and opposing pedestrian traffic tries to separate them.

"I'll be fine," Spectre says with a shrug. "If you're asking if I want to see your notes, I don't need them."

"Suit yourself," Ryouken says with a shrug. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and lets out a single laugh. "I wonder how he's going to do on the quiz."

Spectre raises an eyebrow. Him? Spectre himself is going to barely pass the test; he already knows that. But when he peeks through his bangs, Ryouken looks like his mind is preoccupied with another thought. He smirks up at the sky. Spectre blinks. Ryouken—smiling? Surely he's hallucinating. But the more he blinks, the more his eyes begin to water, and he hastily yanks his head back down.

"What're you talking about?" he says. "Of course I'm going to do well ... enough."

Ryouken gives his head a little shake, and then glances down at him, as if coming back to reality. "I meant a friend of mine," he says, and then adds, "He goes to another school, but he has a quiz today too."

"Another school?"

"Den City High."

Ah, that nice school. He and Ryouken go to Den City Preparatory School, which sounds high and fancy but is just another high school with enough qualifications to get students into university. But Spectre chews on his lip at Ryouken's words. While both of them are quite social at school, their social lives outside of the school yard are rather meagre. They often spend the most time in each other's company.

"How'd you meet someone from there?" Spectre asks.

They bump shoulders as they turn towards the school gates. The iron bars around the school would look more familiar surrounding a prison, but according to the student council, it's an aesthetic. Spectre thinks it looks foreboding and evil. He'd much prefer big hedges for privacy, or raised flower beds for a gentler aesthetic. Do they think students are going to escape out the school doors and climb over that fence?

"This an interrogation?" Ryouken chuckles.

"No."

"Fujiki Yuusaku. That's who I met."

The name sound as familiar to Spectre as a knock-off brand of soda. "Huh?"

"Call him Fujiki, all right? You can meet him today, if you want. We're hanging out after school at my place."

The conversation whirls round and round, and Spectre's head spins in circles. "Wait—who even is that? A friend? How'd you—how'd you even meet this guy?"

"He duels." Ryouken bounces his shoulders up and down, and a corner of his mouth tucks into a faint smile.

"So you just met a duelist?" Spectre knows plenty of student in Den Prep's dueling club, and Ryouken has never paid much attention to them; he's in the computer club. As interested as Ryouken is in professional dueling circuits, he's never stretched his social circle out to them. He and Spectre have just been casual dueling friends existing on the outskirts of the duel clubs.

"That is how you make friends," Ryouken says. "You start with figuring out common interests, and then sharing personal details—"

"I  _ know,"  _ Spectre says. "But like ... how'd you meet someone outside of our school? At a club?"

"Online."

Oh. He's never been too interested in the online dueling community, but it figures that Ryouken would have been chatting with someone. He's talked about it before.

"So you found someone online who just  _ happened  _ to live in the same city as us, and not ten time zones behind us in the middle of nowhere?"

"You make it sound like it was a feat of strength. I was talking to him on a local server. He's a duelist like me, vaguely connected to his own school's dueling club. We've been talking for a few months now, and last month we started hanging out.”

His palms grow sweatier the more he listens. How has Ryouken never told him about Fujiki before? How has this never come up in all their conversation about dueling or Duel Links or even generally? The more Ryouken talks about this friend, the more Spectre begins to wonder who  _ else  _ Ryouken is talking to. He's not keeping score on his friend's personal relationships, but to keep a secret like that for so long ...

They pass through the school doors and head into the shoe locker bay. They're in the same class, with their lockers just a few feet away from each other. Yet when someone approaches Ryouken and says good morning to him, Spectre's heart twinges painfully. He massages the area with his free hand, and slips into his shoes so he can join Ryouken. When the two of them head to class together, he's aware of every pair of eyes on them, every side-conversation. Normally, Spectre loves the thrum of voices, but today, they sound like chatterboxes without lids.

Their classroom is up the staircase and down several long, winding hallway. Despite how wide they are, the halls feel as cramped as the sidewalks they were on just minutes earlier. Spectre can't even walk in line with Ryouken, and he doesn't get a chance to talk again until they've stepped into the classroom and taken their seats. Spectre dumps his stuff down on his desk and hurries over to Ryouken, who carefully takes off his scarf and overcoat and hangs it on the back of his chair, and sets his bag down next to his desk.

Spectre slams his palms down on the desk to get his attention. "Is Fujiki a good duelist?"

"Of course," Ryouken says, and he smiles a smile that puts Spectre's hair on edge. "You want to duel him?"

"No."

"You can, if you'd like. Like I said, I'm hanging out with him after school today, and you're welcome to come along."

His mouth nearly drops to the floor. Hang ... out? Spectre feels like chopped liver. He and Ryouken always hang out after school, whether it's playing games or eating snacks. The only days they don't hang out are when Spectre has club duties; Ryouken always heads home after school.

"Why would I want to come with you?" he growls out.

Ryouken raises one slim eyebrow up into the folds of his white hair. He keeps on smiling. “What's with that tone? I'm just asking if you'd like to join us. We're just going to be dueling."

His hackles are still raised, but he shakes out his arms and forces himself to relax. He's not even sure why he's getting defensive in the first place? He hardly knows Fujiki, but something about Ryouken's words sits wrong in Spectre's belly. Ryouken has never mentioned a gaming friend before, and just today he brings it up that he's been talking with someone for  _ months.  _ It sounds fishy.

The teacher steps into the room at just that moment, and Spectre slinks back to his desk with his head bowed. He'll have to ask Ryouken at lunch time. Either way, he still wants to go and see. He's curious. Just a bit.

By the end of the day, he's dying to know. As soon as the bell rings, he leaps out of his seat and shoves his books and papers into his backpack. He hikes the bag up onto his back, and practically leaps over the other desks to get to Ryouken. He's met with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile.

"You're going to crinkle your schoolwork.”

"Screw it," Spectre replies

Ryouken takes his slow, sweet time packing up his bag. Spectre has to drag him out of the classroom and out the door. He doesn't even tie up his sneakers, instead shoving the strings into his shoes. There's no time for anything else. He has to know just who Yuusaku is.

"If I had to guess ..." Ryouken says as Spectre pulls him out the gates and down the main street; he's not even sure if this is the right way. "I'd say you're envious."

"What's that even mean?"

"A nice word for jealous."

Spectre snorts. "I haven't pulled a prank on him yet, or called him rude names."

"That's good to know.”

"I'm just ..." Spectre shakes his head. "Are we even going the right way? Where even are we going?" If he gets them lost, he'll never hear the end of it. Ryouken has a bad habit of bringing up past mistakes to drive right into the hearts of anyone who hurts him.

"We're meeting him at an intersection," Ryouken says. "He'll be getting off school and coming by to meet us, and then we'll all head to my place. But first ..." He pulls on Spectre's arm and tugs him down one of the side streets lined with products spilling out of the stores. The street market is just another busy avenue in Den City. Spectre presses tightly to Ryouken, and wonders if he should hold onto his shirt just so they don't get separated and end up lost.

Ryouken weaves through the crowds, stopping at a general convenience store selling fruit and vegetables and rice. Are they going grocery shopping, Spectre wonders. Ryouken's dad works overseas, so he lives alone in his massive penthouse. Since Ryouken is a mature, responsible nearly-adult, Spectre figures that he does his adult stuff when he's not hanging out with friends.

But Ryouken doesn't start grabbing fruits and veggies. Instead, he points to a collection of flowers peeking out of pots hanging from a hat rack, and says, "Red or blue?"

"What?"

"Flowers. Red or blue?"

"For who?"

"For Yuusaku," Ryouken says. "You don't know him, so just guess. Red or blue?"

Spectre shakes his head. "Why are you getting flowers for him?"

"Because they'll look nice on the table," Ryouken says. He huffs under his breath. "Fine, I'll pick red."

Spectre grabs him by the shoulder. "I'll say it again: why are you getting flowers for him?" As far as Spectre is aware, Ryouken doesn't buy flowers for anyone else—and Spectre likes flowers! He likes gifts too. And flowers aren't a gift for friends, much less online dueling friends.

"It's a nice gift," Ryouken says. "Generic, but nice."

It still doesn't answer Spectre's question, but he lets Ryouken pick out a bunch of red roses and bring them to the cashier. She bundles them up for him in brown paper and ties it with an old, ratty piece of rope. Ryouken cradles the bundle in his arms like a father would hold his own child.

Spectre turns on his heel without a word.

They head back to the main street. Spectre refuses to walk in line with Ryouken, hanging back and staring through all the shop windows. An angry pit nestles deep in his gut, and he only feels sicker the more he thinks about it. Whenever Ryouken makes small talk with him, Spectre gives a clipped response. Never before has Ryouken bought him flowers, so what makes Yuusaku so special?

"Thanks for waiting."

His head darts up. There, leaning up against a telephone pole, is a schoolboy. He's seen the Den City uniform before: black top and pants, trimmed with an electric blue fabric. He has his jacket buttoned all the way up to his chin. His hair juts out in spikes of blue and pink; Spectre wonders just how this kid even sleeps with hair so wild. Probably poorly judging by the dark bags under his green eyes.

"Spectre." Ryouken extends a hand behind him. "Meet Fujiki Yuusaku."

Spectre forces his best smile onto his face, pinching the thin corners of his mouth. "Nice to meet you."

Yuusaku stretches out his hand a second too late, and they bump knuckles before Spectre catches his hand to shake it.

"Thank you," Yuusaku mumbles out. Unlike him or Ryouken, Yuusaku has a much quieter voice. Healthily deep, but spoken so quietly that even a gentle conversation would drone out his words. Spectre has to strain his ears just to hear him over the city traffic.

"Spectre's my friend from school," Ryouken says. "Remember, I was telling you about him last night."

"I remember," Yuusaku says. He dips his head down and says, in the same low voice, "Hello."

Something about Yuusaku feels off. When he and Ryouken hang out, they're lively and sometimes even rowdy. They crack jokes and tease each other. But even Ryouken's voice has grown softer, and he keeps on smiling that strange smile, eyes half-lidded.

"We going?" Spectre asks.

"Sure," Ryouken says. But instead of walking in line with him, he hangs back with Yuusaku. The three of them can't walk on the sidewalk together; no matter how quiet the street may be, there just isn't room for the three of them. So Spectre walks ahead, dragging his feet along. He feels left out of whatever they're talking about that has to do with some professional dueling team they both watched a stream of. He loses track of what they're even saying to each other.

The walk to Ryouken's house feels longer than it ever has. He lives a ways out from the school or even the city, on a long boulevard bordering the ocean. The road snakes along the coast and then stretches up to a single, cement house built into the side of the mountain. A long balcony wraps around the house providing what Spectre knows as the most beautiful view in all of Den City. But even from the outside, Ryouken's house exudes wealth.

The climb up the mountain is one of the only downsets to the beautiful property.

Once they've dragged themselves up the driveway and to the front door, Ryouken lets them in. They toe off their shoes in the entryway. Spectre heads right to the kitchen to grab a drink of water; he's parched from the climb. Besides, he's been to Ryouken's house plenty of times. This place even feels more like a home than his own place; he doesn't like to stay home.

"Get me a water too," Ryouken calls out. Then, more softly, "Yuusaku, want anything to drink? I've got water, juice, a couple cans of ginger ale."

"Whatever you're having," Yuusaku says.

"Two waters," Spectre hears. He fills up three glasses and brings them back to the living room. By that point, Ryouken and Yuusaku are both seated on the couch side by side. The couch is squishy, and both of them have sunk into the middle. Their hips and shoulders are touching; it doesn't seem to faze Ryouken in the slightest, except maybe keep his smile on his face, but Yuusaku looks pinker than a peach.

"Here." Spectre passes out the drinks, and then takes a seat next to them. He takes a sip. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryouken still grinning like some drunk idiot. What's he smiling about?

Then Spectre sees the flowers. He wasn't paying much attention to them ever since Ryouken first picked them out, but the bundle is now in Yuusaku's lap. Yuusaku's cheeks are the same colour as the petals. He sits stiffly, not even breathing as if it could break the flowers.

Ryouken lifts his gaze up to Spectre. "How about we play a game?"

"You know a three-player game?" Spectre says.

"Yeah, that fighting game. Here ..." He stretches across Yuusaku to grab the remote; Yuusaku turns scarlet, and lets out a soft, choked noise. Ryouken laughs, the sound rumbling in his throat, and turns on the TV. He passes out remotes for each of them, and sets up the game. Spectre is familiar with this particular game: he and Ryouken used to play it every day after school.

"Does Yuusaku even know how to play this game?" Spectre asks.

Ryouken's eyes narrow. "He'll figure it out. Here, Yuusaku ..." And he begins to explain the instructions.

Spectre leans back and sighs noisily. They should have just picked a game they all know; after all, he and Ryouken have played every game in the house. All they'd have to do is ask Yuusaku to choose a game he's familiar with, and then they wouldn't have to have a lengthy tutorial. It feels like a waste being here.

"Spectre."

He jumps out of his thoughts and shakes his head. "What?"

"Want to grab some snacks?"

"You get it." 

Ryouken looks like he's swallowed a piece of lemon. "Whatever." He shakes his head as he stands, and heads into the kitchen. Spectre waits for him to call out and ask what they'd like, but the question never comes. He returns with two bags of chips that he drops onto the table. Spectre rolls his eyes at him. He knows better than to ask what Ryouken is feeling. But he can't help but glare at him as he sits down and helps Yuusaku pick out his character and explain what buttons to use to activate special moves.

Surprisingly, once the match starts, Yuusaku holds his own. He learns quickly and doesn't ask for any help. From time to time, Spectre feels a pair of eyes watching his hands, and he tucks his remote as close to his chest as he can so Yuusaku doesn't cheat. Yuusaku seems like a decent kid, but there's still no way Spectre wants to hang out with him. Or be around him.

And Ryouken—Spectre wants to strangle Ryouken and shake him until all his senses return. He laughs at the simplest things and smiles when Yuusaku beats them in a match, even though if the two of them were playing Ryouken might grumble about the game glitching on him. He makes no such remarks this time; in fact, his pleasantness only grates on Spectre's prickled nerves.

After only the third match, Spectre raises his arms over his hand and forces a yawn. "I'm going to head home, all right?"

Ryouken frowns at him. "It's only like 6 o'clock. You don't want to stay for dinner?"

"No, I'm going." He slips on his jacket and backpack, and toes on his shoes before Ryouken even has time to put down his remote.

"Text me tonight," he says.

"Whatever."

He closes the door in Ryouken's face. The chilly, evening wind tugs at his cheeks and tries to fly up his jacket. He shivers and tugs the jacket closer to his body. Then he begins to make his way down the hill, one step at a time. He looks over his shoulder once or twice to see if Ryouken is coming down the hill after him, but he and Yuusaku stay in the warm house.

_ Gross,  _ Spectre thinks. Ryouken is  _ gross  _ around Yuusaku.

And Spectre wants nothing to do with that.

* * *

For the next week, all Spectre hears about is Yuusaku. Ryouken is neither the chattiest nor the quietest person Spectre has ever known, but lately he feels like Ryouken has an unlimited reserve of stories to share, and all of them surround Yuusaku: his likes and dislikes, his childhood, and of course a detailed log of everything they did together. For someone who barely said twenty words when he was over, Spectre can hardly believe Ryouken knows so much about Yuusaku. Did he read an encyclopedia article about him?

It gets tedious listening to Ryouken. He jokes about it sometimes, and it's not like it's  _ all  _ he talks about ... but it feels like it's the most Ryouken has ever talked about something. Spectre half-expects himself to start dreaming about Yuusaku too.

He doesn't hate Yuusaku. He truly doesn't. He seems like a decent, quiet, well-mannered boy. Spectre doesn't want to hate him because he's Ryouken's friend. But he hates Ryouken much, much more, and for a good reason. All week, Spectre goes home alone. Ryouken invites Yuusaku over, and while he invites Spectre along too, three is an awkward number. Three people can't play video games and be on a team without someone feeling left behind. Three people can't split snacks without someone getting the smallest piece. And as much as Ryouken tries to include both him and Yuusaku, it's obvious that he prefers Yuusaku's company.

It hurts to be alone. Spectre hates how lonely and quiet his house is, and he hates how painfully quiet the world begins to feel. He stops walking to school with Ryouken when he learns he walks part of the way with Yuusaku. He lies about having club duties so that he doesn't have to eat lunch with him and listen to the endless Yuusaku-prattle. He lies about having to clean the house and study, and those are the worst lies of all. The first time he lies, he goes home feeling so sick.

By the time the weekend rolls around, Spectre hasn't talked to Ryouken in four days. They haven't texted or hung out, and the most they've said to each other during school is "good morning." He lies on his bed, tossing his cell phone from one hand to the next. He waits for that bright, cheery trill to tell him he's received a new message, but in the three hours since he's been awake, the only message that has come in was an e-mail advertisement for a store.

He scrunches his face together. Most likely Ryouken and Yuusaku are hanging out like best friends. The party night they had together is all up on his Instagram feed.

But then, maybe Yuusaku went home. A part of him still itches to see Ryouken again. A part of him still misses those afterschool gaming sessions or the weekend-long sleepovers and trips to the mall. A part of Spectre misses simply being around other people because at home ... it's just him. And he hates nothing more than being alone.

_ Bing! _

He blinks.

> _ Ryouken: Hey, you awake yet? _

Spectre nearly drops his phone in surprise.

> _ Spectre: yeah. what's up? _
> 
> _ Ryouken: Want to go out for coffee? _

His heart flutters in his chest. Sometimes, on lazy Saturdays, they'd go for late-morning coffee at one of Spectre's favourite cafés. He loves cafés and restaurants and all places where people are cosied up and chatting to one another. The environment sounds so appealing that Spectre almost forgets to ask one essential question.

> _ Spectre: your friend coming? _
> 
> _ Ryouken: He's sleeping. Come on outside. _

He throws himself off the bed and to the window. Down on the ground is Ryouken, waving one hand at him. Though they're both early risers, Ryouken looks much more put together in capris and a comfortable t-shirt. Spectre runs his hands through his hair and laughs. He can't keep the smile off his lips. There's no Yuusaku in sight, and for a moment, Spectre forgets all his cares and frustrations.

Even just for today, he and Ryouken can hang out.

He yanks on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt he sees, and puts on an overshirt to dress himself up. He doesn't even have time to brush his teeth or comb his hair, or tie up his shoes, before he hurries out the door and down the apartment's stairs. When he bursts through the door, his first sight of the outdoors is the blinding sun.

"Hey," Ryouken says. "Your pick."

Spectre blinks. "Huh?"

"At a café. Your choice. I trust your taste in food much more than ..." He laughs. "Nevermind, all right? Your pick."

Spectre has a sneaking suspicion he was about to say 'Yuusaku,' but he holds his tongue. This is a chance for him to hang out with Ryouken—just Ryouken, and just like old times too. He doesn't want to ruin it with suspicions.

He leads the way down the road and to the closest café he can find: a little hole-in-the-wall, family-run shop that serves the general coffee, tea, and pastries. There are little wooden chairs set around circular tables, and Spectre picks one in the furthest corner by a large window overlooking a quaint patio and garden. As Ryouken sits down, Spectre gives him a push and says, "I'll get the drinks, OK?"

"You sure?" Ryouken says, patting his wallet against his side.

"All good," Spectre says. He might not be as wealthy as Ryouken, but he can afford to treat himself and a friend every now and again.

He returns with two ceramic mugs, one filled with black coffee and the other with herbal tea. He passes Ryouken the coffee cup, and takes his own seat across from him. The first minute they spend in silence, nursing their drinks and breathing in the strong scent of caffeine and chamomile.

Then Ryouken speaks up.

"Were you sleeping when I texted?"

"Nah," Spectre says. "Just relaxing." He takes a sip of his drink and winces when he burns his tongue. "You been busy?"

"This and that," Ryouken says. He takes a sip of his own drink and winces too.

They lapse into an uneasy, painful silence, so thick that a knife wouldn't be able to slice through it. On the walk over, he felt grand about this meeting, but now Spectre feels a spike on unease between them, and his hackles begin to raise.

"Look."

Spectre growls low in his throat.

Ryouken sighs. "You're acting really strange, you know that? And I wasn't going to ask you at first and just try to have a nice morning cup of coffee with you, but now you're just being weird."

"Thanks," Spectre says. "You have been too."

"Have I?"

"Very." He holds up his hand, flexing each of his fingers. Then Spectre counts them one at a time. "You've been avoiding me, stopped texting me, haven't eaten lunch with me, practically have nothing to do with me ... and you've replaced me."

Ryouken sighs. "You can't be serious—"

"Who even is that?"

"Yuusaku?" Ryouken hisses the name out. His hands clench his cup so tightly it could shatter between his palms. His knuckles are whiter than snow. "Are you jealous of Yuusaku?"

"No," Spectre scoffs. "Why would I be jealous of someone like him?"

"Because you're acting really strange. You think I'm avoiding you? You've lied about club activities every day this week, and if you have your reasons, then fine, but I'm not going to hang around if you're trying to stay away from me. Grow up and tell me what's wrong."

Grow up. Spectre hates that word. He's grown up plenty. He's grown up so much, learnt to live on his own and take care of himself. If adults saw him nowadays, they'd say he grew up too fast.

"Spectre." The way Ryouken says his name makes his blood curdle. "If you're jealous, I'll apologise. I'll be the bigger man here and say that I'm probably spending too much time with Yuusaku. Maybe I'm talking too much about him. He even says so too. But really, avoiding me is rude."

"I'm not avoiding you," Spectre says with a sniff. He wishes he could crawl back into his bed and avoid the rest of the day. He came out with Ryouken to have a good time, not to be publically lectured.

"I'm trying to be understanding here—"

"About what?"

Ryouken takes a sip of his coffee. "About why you're acting like this."

"It's you who's acting like that. You and Yuusaku, acting all cosy like you've been together for weeks and know all about each other—"

"We're dating."

Spectre nearly chokes on his tea. "W-what?" He clears his throat, and his next words come out so quickly that he can hardly pull them back in. "Wait, what are you talking about? You—you can't be serious. You—"

"I wasn't really going to tell anyone because, well ..."

"You wouldn't even tell me!"

Ryouken shoves his fingers through his hair. "Because then you'd act like this—"

"I'm acting like this because you  _ didn't  _ tell me, because you just decided to have a boyfriend 'just because' and now you're spending all your free time together. Because you just assumed I'm fucking replaceable! Because you're so full of yourself that you think so long as you have someone with you then everything is OK. Did you seriously invite me here just to tell me that? Rub it in my face—"

"You are blowing this so out of proportion—"

"Because it's a bigger deal than you think!" His voice booms through the café, and all eyes fall on him. His face is already pink from his yelling, but he feels the colour drip out of him when he sees Ryouken's fierce glare. He's not scared. He's not guilty. He looks ready to strangle Spectre.

"You are the one who's full of himself. You're the one who avoided me all week. You're the one who was rude when I invited you over so you could meet Yuusaku. You're the one who made this a big deal and didn't talk about it like an adult, or dare I say a  _ decent human being.  _ You didn't try at all to get to know him—"

His fingers tighten round his stirring spoon. "You didn't introduce him as your boyfriend."

"Why would that even matter? Would you have treated him even  _ worse?  _ I sincerely doubt you would have treated him better."

"You could have done it better is all I'm saying."

"Better?" Ryouken spits the words out like poison. "You're jealous that I have another friend and you refuse to share. Face it: I matter to more people than just you. I'm not going to be around for just you. And—and I wanted to try, damn it, but you had to go and make that impossible. You're the one that caused this; I'll take responsibility for not treating this as sensitively as I could have, but you're the one who stopped talking to me, avoided me like the plague, made this  _ worse.  _ Don't blame me for your own insecurities."

He flinches at the words. He tries to retaliate, shout something obscene. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing ... no one ...

His chair screeches back. He's barely touched his tea, but he doesn't feel like finishing it before he goes.

"Thanks a lot," he snaps, and he storms out of the café without another word. When he crosses the street, he checks over his shoulder to see if Ryouken is running after him, telling him he's sorry. But just like last week at his house, Ryouken doesn't come out to bring him back.

Spectre feels his heart shrivel up in his chest.

The world feels more quieter and lonely than it ever has.

* * *

He refuses to talk to Ryouken the next day. Or the day after. On the third day, when Ryouken sighs too heavily at him, Spectre rolls his eyes. Screw Ryouken and Yuusaku. Screw Ryouken and his new friends and life. He's probably happier without him around. Definitely.

But Spectre does has to admit, it feels lonelier without Ryouken around. He hangs around the school even more, sometimes up until closing time when the teachers tell him to leave. He drags out his time getting home too, often going to several cafés just so he can experience be around other people. He spends so little time at home, and yet the outside world feels just as cold and unforgiving.

It hurts. Stings deep in his soul.

On the fifth day, he gives up. He spends all day itching in his seat, too unsettled to pay attention to the lesson. When he hears the bell, he nearly leaps out of his seat. But he freezes when he spots Ryouken packing up his backpack and heading out the door. He can't approach him with everyone nearby. He can't just pretend to be best friends with him because they aren't.

So he follows him down the hallway, one or two steps behind him, not close enough for Ryouken to snap that Spectre is stalking him, but close enough that he never loses sight of him in the thrum of students. He slips on his shoes and stays on Ryouken's heels as they head out of the school. Ryouken doesn't say a word.

When they're out of earshot, Spectre picks up the pace. His stomachs twists unpleasantly, and he presses a hand to the cramp. Every time Ryouken shifts, Spectre feels his anxiety spike. Will he turn around? Will he snap at him? But instead, Ryouken remains deadly silent.

Spectre gives in first: "You ... heading home?"

"Your house is the other way," Ryouken says.

Spectre huffs. He knows that, and he knows what Ryouken is implying too. "Well I need to go shopping."

Ryouken shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't turn around, nor quicken his pace. He remains firm and steady. It pisses Spectre off how calm and collected Ryouken can be; he himself is seething in anger and ... and jealousy.

His dry throat prickles, and Spectre coughs. "How'd you do on the test?" he tries.

"Fine."

Shit.

"Sa—same," he says. "Same, I guess ..." A heavy breath settles in his lungs, and not even a deep sigh releases the pent-up air within him. "It's my fault, you know ..."

Ryouken stops walking.

"My fault," Spectre says, "for not ... for being rude to Yuusaku."

"You weren't just rude to Yuusaku," Ryouken says. "It was to me."

"And to you," Spectre says. He swallows thickly. "You could have told me who Yuusaku was to you, and I hate that you didn't ..."

One of Ryouken's icy blue eyes falls on him.

"But it was still a dick move to act like that." He shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. He can't meet Ryouken's striking gaze. He probably doesn't even mean to be so intimidating, but he's taller and more mature and Spectre feels like he's digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole the more he opens his mouth. This can't be what Ryouken wants to hear, right? Certainly not.

"Do you mean to say, 'I'm sorry?'" 

"Yeah ..." Spectre dips his head down. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

He blinks. Raises his head up. Ryouken looks anything but pissed. He doesn't look happy either, but he's pulled an unfamiliar expression the likes of which Spectre has never seen before in his life. There's no smile or glow, but a general sense of wellness, as if that one single 'sorry' lifted a weight from his shoulders. 

The silence prickles over them, and Spectre opens his mouth to fill it before it swallows him whole.

"It's my fault."

"It is," Ryouken tells him, and he lets out a short laugh. "I'm not going to coddle you and say that it was OK ... but I forgive you. Don't make me pity you. It's your fault and I'll hold you to it. But even I have to admit, I could have handled it better too."

"Yeah ..." If he takes any more blame off his shoulders, he feels like Ryouken will only snap at him.

"I guess I wasn't really thinking about what Yuusaku would mean to us." Ryouken taps a finger to his chin, and then with a sigh presses his forehead down into his palm. "That one is on me. Yuusaku felt pretty bad when we stopped talking to each other."

Truthfully, Spectre doesn't care all that much about what Yuusaku thinks, but he nods at the sentiment.

"And, if I'm perfectly honest, maybe I spent more time with Yuusaku than you. Maybe I prioritised my relationship with him too much. But if you were feeling left out, tell me. Don't act all awkward and pissy and assume that I'm going to understand what you mean. I can't read minds, especially not yours."

"Not all of us can be mature," Spectre says.

"You can try." A smile flickers on his face, and Ryouken beckons him forward with a little hand. "I'm on my way home, actually. Yuusaku skipped class so he's already there. Do you ... want to come along? Up to you."

The words burst from his lips before he can tear them back: "Yes."

For the first time in two weeks, Ryouken looks like he did when he and Spectre first became friends.

"Then let's go. You can pick out the treats at the store—find something plain and boring for Yuusaku, but go wild for the two of us. We should get drinks too, maybe sodas ..."

The rest of Ryouken's words fade away as the bubbly, warm chatter returns to the city. The sun on his face feels warmer than ever before, and Spectre takes a deep breath of air. He could get used to this.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 15: free day  
> and not the last chapter of this fic bc i saved the First Christmas prompt for the finale, so there will be one more chapter from me from Spectre's POV! please look forward to the finale tomorrow!! <3

"You really think we need a big celebration to check our grades?" Aoi asks. Truthfully, that should only be a matter for high school and university acceptance letters, not grades. She hadn't been feeling too poorly about her marks until Spectre suggested they check them together. Now, she feels like if she doesn't get perfect marks, the celebration will be worth naught. And it isn't even a large celebration. It's a day off for the two of them, and thus far they've planned to go for a walk and get tea. If inspiration strikes either of them, they'll change plans, but she has no worthwhile ideas. None. She doesn't even think there should be a party in the first place.

"We have to do something," Spectre says, lounging on the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. "How do you want to remember finishing your first semester of university? With a boring memory of checking your marks on your laptop like everyone else?"

"That's assuming I even pass," she says. A twinge of anxiety has still hung around through her studiousness. She could still fail.

"That won't happen," he says. "Now come on, what do you really want to do?" He laughs. "Even if you say 'stay home,' we'll just throw a party in here, buy decorations and bake something. We just have to do  _ something, _ even if it's the dumbest idea in the world."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Outside, I guess?" It seems like a better idea than having to decorate the inside of their dorm, only to have to clean it all up. If they head out, there won't be any mess to return to. Well, no more mess than the disaster that is their living room, decorated with dirty plates and stained tea mugs. The table is hidden under textbooks and study guides and handwritten notes.

The less they have to clean, the better.

Spectre nods in agreement. He stands up with a little jump and gazes round the room, avoiding the mess before him and searching for something in the distance. He smiles when he sees it. "What if we climbed a tree?"

"What if we looked at our marks with our feet planted on the ground?"

"Because that's no fun."

"You don't even like heights," Aoi says. She slips on her coat, tucking the buttons into the little folds. "Why don't we get something to drink and go from there?"

"Because that's no fun, just like I said." Spectre hangs his head. "I bet Ryouken has better celebration plans."

Aoi raises an eyebrow. "So we're trying to be better than Kougami and Fujiki? That might be ..." Her cheeks turn pink. "Difficult."

Spectre's entire face burns, so much brighter than any blush she could ever make. He's practically translucent, so even the slightest warmth on his skin appears as red flushes.

"I wasn't suggesting we do the same  _ thing  _ as them, just that—you know what, nevermind, let's go and we'll decide from there."

He crosses the room in two decisive steps and yanks on his jacket. Aoi knows his expression well: when he puffs out his cheeks, he's comically frustrated. He's not angry with her—no, he smiles when he's angry, and he blames everyone but himself. He's just upset that he didn't get his way. She lets him seethe quietly as they head out the front door and down the steps. This path has become so familiar to her that she doesn't pay attention to who's in the hallway or studying in the lobby; her vision becomes brighter when she steps out into the crisp, fall breeze.

"Where to ... oh, right." She tugs on his sleeve and pulls him towards the main road. He follows after her, lips pinched in a thin line. Not a moment later, he speaks up, unable to keep even a minute-long vow of silence.

"I think I'm going to pass my classes."

She turns down one of the streets onto the main sidewalk lining the path to the university. She and Spectre have explored every inch of the campus, and they both know the best ways to get onto the main strip and head to the bus or train station, or how to get to the beach. Today, they'll head closer to the city, where there are more shops and cafés. They’ll figure out their plans there.

"I'm  _ very  _ confident I'll pass," Spectre says.

"I'm glad," Aoi says.

"But you're not ..." He lets the words hang out like old laundry.

"A little bit, maybe ... I don't know. I think I'm going to pass the one class I studied hardest for, the one that I  _ need  _ to pass ... but it would still hurt if I failed a class."

"You think you'll cry?"

He must not mean it to sound quite so insensitive, but she feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

"It won't be the end of the world," she says instead. No, it'll just be a huge blow to her weak pride. She's proud of all the studying she's done and how far she's come. She's had rough patches of depression over the course of the semester, and it's knocked her marks down to a 70% average. If she maintains that, she'll pass ... but within that average is a failing mark. She could fail a class.

"It won't be," Spectre says. "And everyone fails classes."

"But  _ I  _ don't want to fail classes. I don't care about anyone else." 

Spectre snorts. "Fair point. So again, you think you'll cry if you fail?"

"I really don't see what crying has to do with it ... but maybe. I guess." She's cried in front of Spectre before. Plenty of times. She can even remember the first time she was trapped in a panic attack on the kitchen floor, sobbing over how she didn't think she could even make it to midterms. She was homesick. She was overwhelmed. And she's cried since then, but not that horribly.

"That's all right."

Aoi blinks.

"You can cry if it makes you feel better."

Aoi bites back a weak smile. "Are you trying to comfort me?"

"No, I'm just being honest. If you cry, it will be fine. You'll still pass your classes. You'll still move on. The world won't end. You'll just be sad."

She huffs under her breath. He does have a point, but she doesn't want to admit it. No one  _ likes  _ to admit that it's all right to fail a class every now and again. Post-secondary schooling is already so competitive with grades, it's almost a prerequisite to be a perfect student without a single academic flaw. She'll be the one stained student in the school—the student who couldn't pass.

"Besides, I'll probably fail a class too." He shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his shoulders back. "That's all right too."

"I think you should be a little more ... concerned with your marks."

"I am. That's why I'm passing my one requisite course that I can't retake for another year."

She purses her lips together. She hates it when he comes off as right, especially in matters like this. It means she can't talk herself into a pity corner because somehow his rationality has overridden her anxiety. If she drives herself down into the dumps, there won't be any sympathy for her.

"I don't want to check my marks at a café, all right?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"If I cry," she says. "I don't want anyone to see me."

"Sure. We still have ..." He checks his watch. "A half hour to go."

She's been watching the clock ever since they left the house. She knows just how much time is left, how much long she has to sit with this terrible anticipation. She hopes she feels relieved when she checks her marks.

Sometime as they're walking, she stops paying attention to where they're walking. Her feet pound on the pavement, and her mind becomes hazy and swamped with too many thoughts. She forgets about the café until Spectre casually mentions, "Hey, this a good place?"

Ahead of them is a little, white stand-up board detailing the menu for a cutesy, family-run cafe. She agrees at once, only because she realises they've walked far too long and she had forgotten to look for a place to buy drinks. She checks her watch; only fifteen minutes to go now.

The cafe is cosy, about the size of their living room. There are only two tables squished to the side, and the counter extends to give a spot for two bar stools. On every available surface are dark containers—jars of coffee and tea. The pungent smell of coffee grounds shocks her, and she feels herself relax. She likes coffee as much as she like caffeinated tea.

She holds Spectre back with a hand on his holder. "Let me get it. I'll, um ... get you something you like."

Spectre smiles. "I do trust your taste."

The little compliment blossoms in her chest. She pays the cashier for two take-out cups: one herbal tea for Spectre with a name she can't begin to pronounce, and a plain cup of coffee for herself.

Spectre snorts into his drink. "You drink coffee like Ryouken, black as—"

"Were you going to say 'black as my soul?'" She laughs and bumps shoulders with him. "Watch your tongue or it'll burn."

"Feisty," he says, leading her out of the cafe. They fall into step with each other once more, but instead of zoning out and daydreaming, Aoi feels herself grounded in reality. He's walking closer to her. Much, much closer, so that their shoulders bump like bumper cars and their hands tickle each other. If she leaned her head too far to the side, she'd bonk heads with him. She wants to—come closer, that is. If he's close, then she wants to be closer. His hand is hanging at his side too ...

He blinks at her when she intertwines their fingers.

"Your hands are freezing cold," she blurts out.

"F-forgot my gloves."

She smiles at the stutter. He looks so shocked, so surprised, but he hasn't pulled away. They've held hands at home. They've hugged each other. But contact surprises Spectre, as if he's never been touched before or understands what it feels like. He acts like if someone reaches out to him, their hands will go right through him. But Aoi grips his hand tightly. She'll never let go.

She doesn't pay attention to which direction they're walking, or how far away they've travelled from the bus back to the university. She lets her feet take her however far she needs to go, until she sees a little bench nestled in a nook in the sidewalk. It reminds her of the garden she took solace in on her first day of university.

She pulls him down next to her, and he flops down. Squeezes his hand before letting go.

He clears his throat, pushing his rosy cheeks into the collar of his jacket. "So ... marks?"

Breath catches in her throat.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

She pulls out her phone and logs in. They hold their screens out so that both of them can see.

_ Click. _

Across the screen appears the following grades: 70% - 72% - 68% - 51%.

And Spectre's: 52% - 58% - 78% - 67%.

"Sixty-seven percent to pass the class, right?" Whoever says it, she doesn't know. It could have been either of them who breathed the words. But Aoi sees the numbers on her screen, clear and bright. She ... she passed. And she failed. She did both, but she passed more. The worry in her chest expands, and a smile breaks across her face.

Tears drip down her cheeks.

"I ... passed ..."

An arm wraps around her shoulders, tight and comforting. Her cheek nestles into something soft and warm and white, and she sinks down into the blanket-like texture. Mute sobs catch in her chest. Her tears struggle to break over her waterline and pour like waterfalls down her face.

"Look," Spectre says, nudging her with his cheek. "I passed too."

Aoi cries for him too.

She forgets about the time on her wristwatch, or the tea she abandoned by her feet. She drops her phone into her pocket and zips it shut; she won't be needing it for a while. Then she buries her face into his shoulder and cries. Her heart swells, and even she feels like laughing, she keeps crying. Tucked back from the sidewalk, no one is able to see, much less hear, her sobbing.

Gently, Spectre pets the top of her head.

"We did it, Aoi."

_ We did,  _ she tries to say. But she hopes her tears are enough.

He squeezes her tightly.

* * *

"So?"

Aoi kicks her feet back and forth, meshing her toes together. "So ..." she says, drawling the words out.   
  
Ema laughs into the receiver. "So, how'd you do? Tell me how your first semester of uni was."   
  
"Not much to report, actually," Aoi says. She rolls back on her bed. After the good cry with Spectre, she slept the afternoon away, and only woke up to her phone blaring in her face. She still feels groggy as she rubs the sleep from her eyes    
  
"Well that makes me suspicious," Ema says.   
  
Aoi's palms begin to sweat. Just what can Ema be imagining?    
  
"I ... got my grades back," she says. Her voice peters off at the end, and she twists the phone away so she can clear her throat. "Got them back today, actually."   
  
Ema sounds far too chipper on the other end. "Oh how wonderful! Tell me how you did!"   
  
"All right," Aoi says. "Passed three of—of my four classes. Barely passed one of them—"   
  
"That's great."   
  
She blinks. "G—gr—"   
  
"Great," Ema says, and laughs with such ease that it makes Aoi only sweat more. How can Ema be happy about grades like that? Is she playing up the excitement so Aoi doesn't feel badly when she tells her brother? Is she trying to make light of the situation? Spectre told her that everyone fails, but she isn't 'everyone' and she doesn't like failure. It sits like a rotten apple in her stomach.   
  
"It's not too bad," Aoi says.    
  
"But you sound disappointed, kiddo? What's up?"   
  
"I did fail ..."   
  
"That happens."   
  
Unlike Spectre, whose words come off so bluntly, Ema sounds sincere when she speaks. Her voice is a soothing lull to Aoi's ears, and rather than feel herself tear up, she speaks up.   
  
"It did," she says. She swallows the pit in her throat. "I didn't fail the class I needed to move on in the program, so I'll just make up the marks next semester or next year ... or take summer classes if I want to."   
  
"Sounds like you have options," Ema says. Her rapping nails echo in the speaker. "Sounds like you've spoken to someone else too."   
  
"Huh?"    
  
"You wouldn't have said that to me if you hadn't talk to someone first. I know you well, Aoi. You beat yourself up over little mistakes. You dread failure. Even if you went on some life-changing adventure that reshaped your entire existence and perspective, you'd still probably feel guilty about a failed class. Even if I told you everyone does it too. I'm proud of you kiddo for taking this so well, but you had a good heart-to-heart chat with someone, didn't you?"   
  
Ema is too smart for her own good, Aoi thinks. She chews on her lip to muffle a chuckle. Her long legs stretch out across the bed, and she relaxes into the pillows propped up on the headboard.    
  
"You caught me."   
  
"Who was it? Remember, one time we were talking about friends you could rely on. Did you get to know someone?"   
  
Her eyes shift to the open doorway. She can hear Spectre in the living room playing the racing game they once played when Ryouken and Yuusaku came over. He must be able to hear her too, even over the sound of the car tires and item effect noises. She hopes he hears her when she speaks up.

“Yeah, I did.”

Through the slit in the doorway, he smiles.

Her heart swells. “I think we both helped each other.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so originally when i planned this fic i had _nothing_ for day 03, but then i realised i could save the prompt for the end of the fic, so ~  
> for day 03: Christmas

Aoi's hand massaging his thigh feels nice, but it doesn't ease away the ebb of anxiety deep in Spectre's gut. He doubts she's able to tell how he's feeling—he hides his anxiety behind a thick mask of overconfidence—but she keeps rubbing his leg as they bounce up and down in the back of Ema's car. She takes turns sharply, cutting into the corners and forcing them to topple from one side to the other.

"We'll go pick up your brother first," Ema tells them. "He's still working. Not even sure if it counts as overtime or just 'he-can't-stop-working' time."

Aoi rolls her eyes, and she gives Spectre's knee a light squeeze. "Does he even know the difference?"

"Probably not."

He opens his mouth to speak, and then promptly closes it. Again. This has been the third time he's tried to speak up since Ema picked them up at the campus, and he hasn't once been able to join the conversation. Normally, he just speaks up and blurts out his opinion. But Aoi and Ema seem close, like sisters, and whenever they speak they leave no room for anyone else.

"Is your brother always working?" he asks, if only to fill the short silence in the car.

Aoi nods her head, and her eyebrows mesh together. "Always. I can't remember a time when he  _ wasn't  _ heading to the office—"

"Or sleeping in the office," Ema adds. "He's gotten better over the years, but I'll chalk that up to me hunting his ass down and dragging him home in a gunny sack."

His lips curl up. "What a guy."

But Spectre knows that, in fact, that's all he knows about Akira. All Aoi and Ema ever say about Zaizen Akira is that he's an overworked employee at SOL Technologies and that he loves his family dearly, even if he can't spend all holidays with them. That's it. With no extra information off which to base his assumptions, Spectre feels caught in the dark about Aoi's big brother.

And they're meeting up for Christmas dinner.

He tugs at his uncomfortable jacket that he bought specifically for this dinner. The slacks and dress shirt he bought at the goodwill store seem baggy and ratty, and he wonders if Akira will able to tell he's wearing knock-off brands. Aoi even dressed up too in a long, blue evening gown that stretches to the floor.

The car turns into a parking lot, and out the window Spectre sees SOL Technologies. The building must take up three or floor blocks. Giant tunneled bridges stretch over traffic to other, equally large, buildings. It looks more like a small city than a single company. There must be thousands of employees here, but the windows are are all single-sided mirrors, and not a single person roams the courtyard. This place looks like a terrifying ghost town.

"Here we are." Ema pulls the car round to the front of one of the buildings and honks the horn twice. A man steps out from the glass door, briefcase in hand. With the barest of details Aoi and Ema had given him, Spectre expected Akira to look a bit frazzled, on-edge, in over his head. Akira looks like he walked out of a spa. He marches down the pathway and to the car, head held high. He looks like a polar opposite to Aoi, whose round face and features make her softer, more angelic; Akira has a sharp jaw that could cut wood, and small, marble-like eyes that barely blink.

Spectre swallows when Akira's eyes fall on him.

"Hi sweetie!" Ema says. "Here, hand me your briefcase and get in. We've got to head back for dinner."

"Thank you." Akira passes the briefcase over and then ducks into the passenger seat. Spectre always considered himself tall, but Akira must be at least half a head taller than him. The tip of his blue hair dusts the roof of the vehicle.

He spins around in his seat, blue eyes on Spectre.

"Spectre, am I correct?"

"Correct," Spectre says, and then tacks on a choked, "sir." Who knows if he should be using formalities with his girlfriend's older brother? What are the customs here? Not that he would want to follow them, but he ... He wants to make a good impression to Aoi. As their first Christmas together, he wants to make it an evening to remember. He wants to get along with her family because they mean so much to her. And besides, Aoi has gotten along swimmingly with his friends, so he must return the favour.

Distantly, he wonders if Aoi ever felt such unease around Ryouken and Yuusaku. She knew one of them from high school, but he doubts she ever felt like she'd throw up. Just a small greeting from Akira makes his guts twist inside out.

Ema pulls the car out of the parking lot and back down the road. She chatters away to Akira, who Spectre knows as her boyfriend, before she brings the conversation around to Spectre.

"So now you've met Aoi's boyfriend!"

He chokes on his breath.

Akira nods his head once. "I have, though I remember briefly talking with him a few Skype calls ago? Correct, Aoi?"

She squeezes his knee, and a tremor passes from her hand to his leg. "I think so," she says. "Spectre, you remember?"

Briefly. So briefly that he swears it could have happened in a dream. This semester, Aoi has been calling her family more and more as she's become more comfortable with university life. Now, she calls her brother and Ema every weekend and tells them about the semester. They have fewer details to hide, and it's eased the tensions in their relationship. But Aoi has been quite private about their relationship. Spectre wonders how much she's even told her brother.

"Spectre?"

"Yeah ... I think." He scratches at his head to draw the thoughts from his mind, and then settles back in the seat. The rough fabric of his jacket scratches against the back of his neck.

"Well it shouldn't matter," Ema says. "Now ..." She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "Spectre, you're vegetarian, right?"

"Mhm."

"Good, I made sure of that. The tradition is KFC on Christmas, and as much as I'd like to cook a nut roast and potatoes, or even attempt some ambitious recipe, Aoi has told me that KFC has vegetarian options. There should be a couple burgers for you, and then we'll whip up a couple of side dishes before we eat."

"We'll help," Aoi says.

Spectre nods his head up and down. He loves to cook, and truthfully he'd rather have something to do.

Ema pulls into the driveway and they unload out of the car. Spectre has never been to Aoi's house before, or even seen pictures of it when she has returned home for a day. He sucks in a sharp breath. Her house is at least the size of one of the massive buildings at SOL Technologies, maybe even two combined. It sits on top of a massive skyscraper, as if someone speared a house on top of a tower and called it a job well down. It looks out of place, but he can't find the words to critique it when it's sheer size has taken his breath away.

"Your mouth's hanging open," Aoi mutters. Her cheeks are redder than apples and she dips her chin down towards her chest.

Spectre laughs.

They head through the glass doors and then up a private elevator to the penthouse. For the entire way up, he feels like he's ascending to the clouds. Seeds of worry still tug at his gut, but he forces a smile as the doors open and Akira and Ema lead them to the front door. Even if this is the most prestigious place ever, and even if Spectre is a bit worried about being 'good enough' for Aoi's family, he can't help but feel relaxed in this ritzy, concrete tree house. He's practically living in the stars.

The front doors swing open on silent hinges.

He blinks. Again. And again. He can't begin to take in all the beautiful decor and immaculate furnishings. It doesn't feel cluttered; in fact, the house appears quite empty. The walls are plain grey, with only one of two photographs hanging on the walls. Up past the front door is the living room, and stretching out past it the open plan kitchen. Everything is neatly tucked away, not a plate left astray, not a cluster of random items dropped on a table.

To put it simply, it looks nothing like Aoi and Spectre's cluttered apartment.

"All right, chop chop," Ema says, clapping her hands together. "We don't want to be having dinner at midnight. Aoi, you remember where we keep the nice china, right? Let's get that out; take-out and china dishes sounds lovely. Akira, love, can you help me?" She holds up several bags of food that Spectre never even remembers seeing come into the penthouse. He must have been so enthralled by the building and minimalistic decor to see Ema bring round the food.

He blinks when he realises his name was never called.

"And me?"

Ema laughs. "Have a seat. Dinner will be ready shortly."

And before he can get another word out, they sweep away into the kitchen. He can hear them from the living room, but just like being in the car, he feels outside of their family. They chat in the kitchen about this and that, topics that otherwise would seem quite mundane and repetitive, but now sound like juicy gossip he has to get in on.

He slumps back in his seat and pokes out his lip. As nice as it is to kick back and relax, he wants to help, damn it. He wants to do something. But instead he's been restrained to couch-sitting while everyone else prepares dinner. Aoi, who normally hates cooking and cleaning, has a bright smile on her face as she arranges the plates and bowls. Akira unpacks bag after bag of take-out, arranging the dozens of red, cardboard boxes. Ema sets the food down on the various platters. How she can arrange fried chicken so delicately, Spectre will never know.

_ I could be helping,  _ he wants to tell them. He could help Aoi set out the plates. He could pour drinks for everyone. He could do something. He wants to prove himself to Akira and Ema, and yet they've both set him in the living room to twiddle his thumbs.

Finally, Aoi calls him over. She pats one of the chairs, and then takes a seat next to him. Akira has already seated himself too, and he stares over his glass flute.

Ema appears with the last plate.

"All set?" she says, giving the table one last inspection.

There isn't even room for another plate of food. She must have bought the entire  _ store's  _ worth of fried chicken and French fries. His vegetarian burgers are arranged on a plate close to him, unwrapped but with the foil wrappers bent back like the petals of a flower. The French fry tower resembles the Leaning Tower of Piza, and no doubt Ema and Aoi attempted such an artistic feat. Further down the table are two full plates of chicken, plus a glass bowl of some round, chicken bites.

He eyes the front door. It's just the three of them, correct?

Aoi reaches out and takes his hand. She massages the skin with her thumb, just like she did on the car ride over. This time, it feels slightly more patronising, and Spectre pulls his hand away.

"Let's eat," Ema says.

They bow their heads, and all together, thank each other for the meal. They tuck into the meal frst with silence, but after the initial bites, Ema speaks up again.

"So how were classes this semester?"

"Not done yet," Aoi says. "We're still in the running."

"Mhm." She purses her lips together, and fixes him with a bright, devilish stare. "What are you taking again, Spectre?"

He blinks in surprise—she remembered his name. "Biology major," he replies. "Going to study traditional medicine in the future, I think."

"And how do you find that?"

This time, he doesn't blink, or swallow. He freezes like an animal caught in the headlights. The question shouldn't surprise him; it's pure curiosity. But from Akira, it sounds like a test. And Spectre hates tests.

"G-good."

"And Aoi, how are your classes going?"

She squeezes his leg again. That can only mean she's anxious too, he thinks. She must be.

"Better," she says. "Better than last semester."

"Your last semester wasn't even that bad," Ema says. She bites into another drumstick, and points her fork at Aoi, wagging it up and down like she's berating a young child. "You failed, what, one class? And it wasn't even that bad of a fail? What I hope is that you're feeling more comfortable at school."

"I am," Aoi says, though her words sound like she forced them out of her dry throat. She takes a long sip from her glass afterwards.

"Are you focusing harder on your studies?" Akira asks. He says it simply, in the same, matter-of-fact way he's spoken all night—but something about his words grates on Spectre's nerves. Is he ... testing Aoi?

"Yes."

"Paying attention in class?"

"Yes."

"Taking care of yourself."

"Ye—"

"Hey, what's your work like?"

Akira's eyes widen. He cuts off his sentence with a short cough that he muffles into his jacket sleeve, and he turns to face Spectre with eyes sharper than glass. He has a stare that could bring the strongest being in the world to its knees, and yet Spectre holds him steady.

"Aoi talks a bit about your work," he continues, glancing to the side to hope that Aoi catches on. She looks frozen in fear too. "Says it's quite busy this time of year."

"Yes, it is," Akira says. He glances to Aoi once more, but Spectre reels him in with his next question.

"And you're a manager, aren't you? Someone who oversees the company?"

"Director of Security."

"Big job."

Aoi pinches him on the leg, but Spectre keeps on smiling. Aoi has never talked much about her brother, but even from her sparse stories, he knows Zaizen Akira has certain expectations of Aoi. Even a coddling big brother has goals for his younger sibling. As an only child, Spectre can't relate, but he itches to step between them and do ... something. Anything.

Then Akira clears his throat once more and in a softer voice, not so grating and serious, says, "My apologies, we shouldn't be interrogating you at the table. I'm sure you've heard enough from your own family."   
  
He blinks, but it's Aoi's and Ema's expressions that have him staring. They both look like they've stumbled upon a hidden place, eyes full of wonder and surprise and perhaps even apprehension. He knows little of Ema, but Aoi—he's never seen her face so bright, her smile so gently tucked in the corner of her mouth. She hides her cheeks behind her napkin as she cleans her mouth, and when she tries to find her voice, she only manages to wet her lips.   
  
"A-and me too," Spectre says, dipping his head once. "You've have a long day, I bet."   
  
"I've had longer."   
  
Ema's hearty laugh booms over the moment of brief, awkward silence. "Don't act like he's praising you, you dork," she says, bonking Akira on the crown of his gelled, blue hair. He lets out a short chuckle too and drinks from his glass.    
  
Spectre lets out the breath caught in his lungs. The tension has cleared the room with their warm attitudes, and eagerly he tucks into another burger and a handful of fries. He drops some on Aoi's plate too, and when she thanks him, he touches her hip. By the time dinner finishes, he feels stuffed and content and ready to flop down on the couch. However, as soon as Ema rises to begin collecting the plates, he jumps to his feet.   
  
"I'll help."   
  
Ema passes him the plates all too happily. "He's a keeper, Aoi—look at him carry those plates. I can only imagine how clean your apartment is."   
  
They both snicker.   
  
Sure enough, he finds himself at the sink washing dishes with Aoi drying. Neither Akira nor Ema reappear in the kitchen, both of them finding far too many chores to occupy themselves with elsewhere. If it weren't for the slight click and click of their actions in the living room, and the Zaizens' kitchen wasn't quite so lavish, Spectre would have thought he was back home with Aoi, the two of them buckling down to scour every cup, plate, and bowl in the apartment. Playfully, he bumps hips with her as they stand, side by side, washing up the beautiful china.   
  
"Your family's nice," he says.   
  
Aoi raises an eyebrow to him, her gaze peeking just under her bushy, brown bangs. "Where'd that opinion come from?"   
  
"I'm just saying," he continues, swirling his hands in the soapy water, "that I thought your family might be ... I dunno ..."   
  
"That they wouldn't like you?"   
  
"No, not like that ..."   
  
"Exactly like that," Aoi says, and laughs when he pouts at her. She goes back to drying the dishes, sorting the bowls and plates in various cupboards around the house. The Zaizens must have every sort of dish available, and perhaps multiples of each set. He counts a silent blessing that her family didn't consider coming over to their dorm for Christmas dinner. "And fair point, too—my brother is ... well, he's my brother, and he's got his opinions, but really ... I think he's happy to see me ... happy."   
  
"He's not mad you started dating while studying?"   
  
"I think falling in love with you had done me more good, honestly ..." She pauses, choosing her next words as carefully as she completes her studies. "And he probably knows that too."   
  
Love thrums in his heart. Love. He knows the feeling well as it washes over him time and time again. Gone is the anxiety from his belly and the fear ensnaring his lungs. When Aoi wanders back to dry a glass, he leans in and pecks her on the cheek, chaste and gentle. Her blue eyes tilt up towards him, catching in the light reflected off the soapy water.   
  
"Thank you," she says, leaning up for another kiss.    
  
"Thank you," he echoes, kissing her long and slow. Never before has he felt so right, so complete. Never before has he loved someone so much. And never before has he wanted time to pause so that this kiss with her can last a moment longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and you've reached the end! whether you ship blueghost or not, i hope you enjoyed this story! thank you to the Vrains Rarepair Weeks mods for hosting this event; while i'm sure i would have written my rarepair sometime down the road, this event gave this fic a wonderful platform! and thank you to everyone who has read, kudo'd, and commented - your support fills me with joy!   
> at the moment, i have no future plans for a blueghost fic, but we shall see! in any case, shoot me asks at [lily-liegh](https://lily-liegh.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr if you want to hear me ramble on and on about my fics and ships!
> 
> cheers everyone!  
> -Lily


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